The Gift of Therapy
by Ash M. Knight
Summary: Dr. Regina Mills is Ruby Lucas' therapist and is married to the town sheriff, Emma Swan. Their marriage is already rocky, so when Regina learns about trauma in Emma's past, their partnership becomes increasingly difficult. Ruby is diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder and has a long way to go to manage her own trauma. Now, it's up to Regina to help them both.
1. Chapter 1: Part I

**Author's note: ****Title inspired by the book, "The Gift of Therapy," by Irvin Yalom. ****Trigger warnings for self-harm, mentions of sexual abuse, and psychiatric hospitalization. ****The story will switch back and forth between Regina and Ruby's point of view, which will be indicated by chapter headings. Hope you all enjoy the ride!**

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_**Chapter 1: Regina**_

My first impressions of Ruby are that she is all confidence and beauty. Her long dark hair hangs just below her shoulders, and her playful smile seems to light up the waiting room. The two gentlemen sitting near her are staring, nearly slack-jawed, obviously enthralled by her appearance. The low-cut tank top that accentuates her breasts and biceps helps maintain their attention, at least until I interrupt.

"Ms. Lucas?" I ask, to confirm that this is, in fact, the patient I'm supposed to be seeing.

Her smile grows, and she stands up, immediately extending her hand. Her handshake is firm, but what startles me most is how long she holds onto my hand. It catches me off guard for just a moment before she lets go abruptly.

"My office is this way," I say calmly, offering her a warm smile in return for her own as I lead her down the hallway.

"So," she says, upon entering the room. "The famous question: where do I sit?"

"That's quite up to you," I tell her, still smiling.

She grins at me and announces, "I want to sit behind your desk."

I try not to laugh at this. Her chart says she's twenty-eight. My wife's age. But she seems so much younger, based on her broad smile, playful eyes, and carefree aura. Not to mention, the childish desire to sit behind my desk. But I allow it, of course, as it really doesn't matter to me where she sits, so long as she feels comfortable.

"By all means," I offer, moving across the room to sit in the chair across from the desk.

She takes a seat and bounces enthusiastically, then helps herself to the chair's height adjustment lever, lifting the seat so that she's sitting higher up than I am in the other chair. I know she's waiting for me to start the conversation, but this is not a practice of mine. I prefer to let the patient initiate the therapeutic discussion during each session, especially the first one.

Eventually, Ruby asks, "So, how does this work? Like… do I just say whatever, or…?"

I put her question on the back burner and ask her, "Is this your first time in therapy?"

"Yeah. I mean, no. I saw a shrink when I was young, after my mom and dad died, but I don't remember it at all. There were toys and stuff but… I dunno. Anyway, this is the first adulty therapy I've had, so… Tell me what to do."

"Well, to begin with, you're welcome to say whatever it is you'd like to me. This is a safe place for you to share any of your thoughts or feelings. I know you completed an intake interview last week where they asked you quite a few probing questions that may have been uncomfortable to answer, but at this point, I generally like to ask and hear for myself what brings you in."

"Oh. Well, shit. Okay. I mean, my gran basically just told me if I didn't get control of my anger issues and stop sleeping around, she'd kick me out, so… here I am."

Oddly, she's still smiling, as though what she's said was a joke. There's something else behind her eyes, though. Something I can't quite place.

"Alright," I say gently. "I'd also like to know what _you _would like me to help you with."

"Well, like I said, I guess I'm an angry slut or whatever, according to my gran, so—"

"Forgive me for interrupting you, Ms. Lucas, but I am more interested in what matters to _you._"

She blinks at me, stunned, like she's never been asked this kind of question before. Like she's never considered what _she _really wants in life. I'm instantly intrigued by this, astoundingly alert to her apparent negative self-image and her reluctance to speak for herself.

"I guess I'd kind of like to stop being so angry, too, honestly. But the sleeping around thing… that's really none of her business. And besides, I sleep with whoever I want, whenever I want, because _I _want to. And that works for me."

I pause, wondering exactly how it works for her and imagine – confidently – that it doesn't.

"Well?" she presses, anxious to hear my interpretation of what she's offered.

"How does that work for you?"

"What… What do you mean?"

"'Sleeping around,' as you put it. You said it works for you. How? What do you gain from it?"

Again, she blinks at me, silent.

Eventually, she insists, "It just does."

"Alright," I concede, knowing from experience that pressing the issue at this stage in our relationship would likely push her out the door immediately. "Could you tell me what makes you angry?"

"I don't know," she snaps, clearly irritated that I haven't read her mind yet. "Everything."

Ah, here it is. She's reluctant to share with me. Resistant to treatment. She wants a quick, one-stop shop where I magically 'fix' all her problems. Most people do, and I'm used that kind of attitude from those just starting therapy. But that's not a subject I'm willing to drop. At least not completely.

"When was the last time you felt angry?"

"When my gran told me she was going to kick me out if I didn't go to therapy," she grumbles, her smile dropping.

"Yes, it seems that was distressing for you. It sounds like you're somewhat reluctant to talk to me. That perhaps you have some reservations about therapy. Would you say that's correct?"

"Well, yeah. Sure. No one wants to be in therapy."

Something about this statement irks me, even though she's mostly right about it. As a therapist, it's hard to hear. But I'm determined to combat her negativity.

"On the contrary," I tell her. "I quite enjoy it."

I'm shocked by my own words, realizing that they're only true about 50 percent of the time. The other 50 percent of the time, it's fucking excruciating.

"_You're _in therapy?" she gapes. "I thought you were supposed to be the one fixing people."

"It's generally recommended that all therapists participate in their own psychotherapy and undergo psychoanalysis, and most people benefit from therapy anyway. Also, I should be clear that I am not in the business of 'fixing people,' as you put it. I don't believe that people are broken, only that they're going through some experience that can benefit from an experienced, unbiased set of eyes. It is the patient who ultimately comes to their own epiphanies about their lives. Should you remain in therapy, I think you'll find that you are the one empowered to find the answers within yourself."

"Well, that's bullshit," Ruby laughs, leaning back and spinning the chair around several times before stopping.

"So," I say, after a pause, ignoring her expletive. "What, other than feeling forced to go to therapy, makes you angry?"

"Everyone. Everything."

"How about your friends?"

"Sure. They piss me off all the time."

"Lovers?"

She laughs loudly, telling me, "I don't keep 'em around long enough for _them_ to piss me off."

_**Chapter 2: Ruby**_

"How'd it go?" my gran asks, as soon as I open the front door.

Why does she always have to attack me with questions the second I get home?

"It was fine," I lie. Then, I decide to be honest, "It was bullshit."

"Ruby Lucas. Watch your mouth!"

"I don't need therapy! I'm fine!"

"You threatened to beat one of our customers with a frying pan last week!"

"He grabbed my ass, Gran!"

She sighs, and I roll my eyes, pushing past her to ascend the stairs to my room.

"No boys over, you hear?" she calls up after me. "Or girls, for that matter! You have to work in the morning!"

Of course, later that night, I sneak my current partner into my room anyway. We have my favorite kind of sex: rough, angry, and quick. He tries to stay the night, but I tell him I'll call him tomorrow and make him leave.

I won't call him.

_**Chapter 3: Regina**_

I usually leave my work at the office, but this night, thoughts of my new patient follow me home.

My wife is waiting for me in the parlor when I arrive home, which surprises me and catches me off guard, as she's usually still at work when I get there. Emma is the local sheriff, and she works far more shifts than are necessary. She's obsessed with her work. She would probably say the same about me, but I would deny it.

"How was work?" she asks, taking my hand and gently leading me into the dining room.

"It was… fine…" I say, still taken aback by her presence. "Why are you home early?"

"Not happy to see me, eh?" Emma jokes, pulling me in close and wrapping her arms around me. "Want me to go back to work?"

"Emma," I sigh, pulling her in tighter. "You know that's not what I meant."

"Graham took my shift," she explains. "I made dinner."

She's not the best cook I've ever met, but when I look down at the table, which is set for two, I see that she's made an incredible effort. Emma pulls out a chair for me to sit in at the dinner table. She's served the meal on our good plates, complete with burning candles in the middle of the table.

"This… This is…" I start, but find myself at a loss for words as I slowly take my seat.

This isn't like her at all, and I'm wondering if something bad has happened.

"Look, I know I'm not the best cook, and I'm sorry for that, but I figured you deserve a hot meal when you get home from a long day of work."

I stare at my plate, mumbling, "Thank you, Emma," as she serves me a few slices of the roast that seems to be cooked to perfection. When I take my first bite, after she's served herself as well, I tell her, "This is wonderful, sweetheart. Where'd you learn to make this?"

"Uhhh… Long story. Anyway, I'm glad you like it. I just wish I was home early enough to do this more often," she says sincerely, resting her hand on top of mine. "I want you to know that I appreciate all that you do for me." I look up and meet her gaze, but when she sees how confused I look – she's not usually this sentimental – she asks, "Are you alright? Did something happen at work?"

"No. No, I'm fine."

Emma looks at me curiously before shrugging her shoulders and turning her attention to the hot meal in front of her. Our food is finished slowly in silence, until I stand up and gather our empty plates.

"Wait, let me—" she tries, but I'm already in the doorway to the kitchen.

To my surprise, she follows me, and as I rinse the dishes, she approaches from behind and puts her hands on my hips, leaning in to place a gentle kiss at the base of my neck.

"This dress looks good on you," Emma whispers.

I can hear the smile in her voice as I reply, "Thank you."

I'm not used to this much attention, so I'm not sure how to respond to it. We're both too busy for intimacy – at least, that's what we tell each other and ourselves – so her effort to be close to me seems out of place. I'm ashamed for it, but I'm suspicious of her motive.

"Where is all this coming from?" I ask, a little too harshly.

My wife steps away, dropping her hands to her sides, and looks at me sadly as I turn around. I think she's embarrassed that this has become such an oddity, and that she hasn't made more of an effort previously. I don't resent her for it, but I certainly never expected this kind of attention from her. Okay… Maybe I resent her a little.

Eventually, she answers, "I've just been thinking. A lot. And… I've been a really shitty wife. And I'm sorry. I want to make it up to you."

"There's something you're not telling me…" I say slowly, staring her down with suspicion.

Emma sighs and pushes a hand through her hair, finally admitting, "I started going to counseling."

"You _what?_" I gape.

Surely, she's fucking with me. This woman has never believed in therapy – never – (although she's always supported me in my career) and despite some of our martial issues, she's refused to engage in the practice herself. I've even brought it up a few times, during fights, and she's always refused, so obviously, she's joking.

"I said, 'I started going to counseling.'"

She stares me down, her eyes becoming steel, and I'm still gaping at her.

When I finally ask, "Why?" she sighs again.

"Because I'm a shitty person, okay? You've been right the whole time, and I—"

Quickly, I interject, "You're not a shitty person."

"Well, I've been a shitty wife."

"That's not true."

"Regina," she huffs, clearly frustrated. "Look, I'm really sorry. I should have listened to you a long time ago, and I didn't. I fucked up."

"Emma…"

"Don't make excuses for me."

"I haven't been a perfect wife either."

Another sigh.

"Anyway, the point is, I want to make it up to you. I want things to be… different…"

Slowly, she approaches me, then puts her hands on my waist again.

"Can I kiss you?" Emma asks, after a long pause.

I can't help my obvious reaction, and my eyes go wide. I remember the last time she asked me this. It was after our first date, years ago. She was standing in my doorway. I can still smell her perfume when I think about it…

"Yes," I finally answer.

She leans in slowly, pressing her lips to mine, and the kiss is so sweet, so tender, that I almost gasp from the surge of affection that bursts through me.

_**Chapter 4: Ruby**_

My next appointment with Doctor Mills begins with her warm, welcoming smile. For some reason, it's off putting, but I smile back as enthusiastically as I can – like I normally do in social situations – and follow her into her office.

There is a painful silence at first that I can hardly sit through. In fact, I literally _can't _sit through it, so finally, I talk first.

"So. Now what?"

"That's up to you, Ms. Lucas," she says simply.

I wish she'd just tell me what the fuck I'm supposed to say so I can get this over with, but she's obviously refusing to feed me answers. She's going to make me work for it.

After a pause, I just say, "Oh."

She replies by asking, "What is it that you'd like me to help you with first? Let's start there."

"I want you to make me less angry," I admit, shrugging my shoulders to soften the seriousness of my confession.

"Well, I can't _make _you anything, but I can certainly try to help you get to the bottom of where those feelings are coming from."

"Fine," I grumble, crossing my arms.

I'm sitting in her chair again. I know my request to sit here caught her off guard, and I'm enjoying the sense of control it gives me. I hate the power differential, and I'll do almost anything to break it. It's too uncomfortable to be serious.

Jesus. What the fuck am I doing here?

"Ruby," Doctor Mills sighs. "Do you really want to be here?"

I let out a loud, forced breath of frustration.

"No," I confess. "Not really."

"What made you come back then?"

"I told you already. My gran threatened to kick me out."

"Do you enjoy living with her?"

"Well, no, but it's free, so…"

"Do you have a good relationship with your grandmother, or would you say that it's strained?"

"Well, obviously it's strained if she's threatening to kick me out!" I snap, scowling at her.

Is she obtuse or what? This is going to be painful.

"I apologize, Ruby. I simply try not to assume that I understand people's situations until they explain them fully. I don't want to put words in your mouth."

Well, that's fair. Actually, I kind of appreciate it. She's letting me speak for myself, unlike everyone else in my life.

"I love my gran," I explain, sighing. "It's just hard when she's on my ass all the time, you know?"

"I can imagine that might make it uncomfortable to be around her as much as you are."

"Yeah. I dunno. Maybe I should move out."

"Do you think you'd be happier living on your own?"

"Well, I'd be broke, so probably not. Besides, if anything happened to her and I wasn't there…"

"Does that scare you at all? That something might happen when you're not there?"

"Well, yeah. Of course it does."

"Ruby," she says gently. "What would you say that you get _most _angry about?"

"Men," I confess.

I'm shocked that I've said this. I'm shocked that I could even verbalize the subconscious fear inside of me.

"In what way?"

"They just piss me off, okay? They're only good for one thing, and that's sex. And most of them aren't even good for that."

"I'm going to challenge you to dig a little deeper here, Ruby. What is it about men in general that 'pisses you off,' as you put it?"

"They're pigs. I guess that's why I'm such a slut. If I initiate, it doesn't feel like I'm being taken advantage of. If a guy walks up to me at a bar and talks to me first? Fuck that guy, man. Fuck him. And not in the sexy way. Just literally he can go die in a hole."

I can tell she's stunned by my words, and I feel sort of triumphant for shocking her.

"So, just to be sure I'm understanding, you get angry when a man initiates romantic contact?"

"Yes."

"What about women?"

"Oh, no. I _love _when women hit on me. It's sexy. It's appealing. I love a girl with confidence."

"Why is it different for men?"

I consider this carefully. I know exactly why, but I'm not going to tell her.

"I don't know," I lie, shrugging my shoulders.

"Alright," she says. "Maybe we can explore that more sometime. For now, let's just work on some of your behaviors that stem from anger."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, as much as I love talk therapy and psychoanalysis, I think cognitive behavioral therapy is critical to changing behaviors, and if that's really what you want, we should work on it. I want you to feel you're making progress." I don't say anything, so she keeps talking, "But I want you to understand something, Ruby. Anger is a substitute for other emotions. It is not organic. It is never alone. And generally, what anger covers up is sadness."

I'm silent. Fuck that.

"I'm not sad," I finally counter, sensing the implications of what she's trying to say. "Why would I be sad?"

"I don't know, Ruby, but I'd love to explore it and find out."

"Yeah, well. No."

"Okay. We can just work on the behaviors then, for now."

For now, she says. Fuck this bitch. Who the hell does she think she is, trying to tell me I'm fucking sad?

"I'm not sad," I repeat angrily.

"Are you angered by what I've just said?" she asks me.

I definitely am. Not saddened. Angered.

"Yes."

"Then I apologize. I didn't mean to upset you. Where would you like to go next?"

"Home."

"Our time is just about up. Let me get you scheduled for next week, if you'd like, and I'll see you then, and we can discuss where you want to take this next at that time. Would that be alright?"

She called me sad, which pisses me off, but what's worse is that fact that she's so fucking _nice. _Why does she have to be so nice?

"Yeah, whatever. Same time next week then?"

"That will be fine. Thank you for coming in, Ruby. I look forward to seeing you next week."

_Ugh. Too damn nice._


	2. Chapter 2: Part II

_**Chapter 5: Regina**_

I get home and slam my keys on the table in the foyer. I realize how angry I am and want to scream. Of course, it doesn't help that Emma scares the shit out of me by entering the room and saying my name.

"Regina. What happened?"

"Nothing," I snap, turning away from her to walk into the living room.

But she takes my hand and stops me before I can get to the doorway.

"Regina, honey. Talk to me."

"This fucking girl. This girl… She's impossible. She's as angry as I am and doesn't want to do a goddam ounce of work. She's incredibly resistant and it's driving me crazy."

"How many times have you seen her?" Emma asks gently, still holding on to my hand.

"Twice."

"Come sit down, sweetheart," she offers, gently leading me to the living room and pulling me down onto the sofa. I know I look pissed, and I know she's trying her best to calm me down, but I'm instantly annoyed when she says, "You don't know her very well yet, babe. I'm sure there's more to her book than her cover. Get to know her and see if things change. Therapy is hard." I say nothing, so she adds, "Isn't it?"

She's right, and I hate it.

"Yes," I growl, crossing my arms.

"You're cute when you're angry," she teases.

I scowl at her.

"Gina, come on," Emma urges me. "Try to lighten up, okay? I'm sure it'll work out. She just needs time. I needed time too. I wasn't ready at first."

"Yeah, well, you waited until you were ready to fucking show up. If she doesn't want to be there, she shouldn't come in and waste my time."

"Regina. This isn't like you at all. You love your patients. All of them," she reminds me.

I sigh, knowing she's right, and confess, "I'm just so frustrated, Em. I wanna help her. I know she needs it. She's definitely got Borderline Personality Disorder. She meets almost all the criteria. Volatile relationships, intense lability, et cetera. Self-harm too."

"She hurts herself?" Emma asks, sounding a little surprised.

"A lot of my patients do, Emma."

"But isn't that—"

"We haven't talked about it yet. She mentioned it during her intake, so I read about it in her file. I asked about suicidal ideation and access to guns, of course, but we didn't discuss her cutting. I want to give her the chance to bring it up. As long as I know she can be safe, to the best of her ability, I'm not going to push her. She's got a trauma history, but wouldn't specify during the intake. Doesn't surprise me."

"Well, there you go. She's got trust issues. You're getting paid to talk to her. Why would she trust you without getting to know you?"

"Stop being right all the time. It's fucking infuriating," I say, finally laughing.

She smiles at me and nuzzles my neck, saying, "I love you, Regina."

"I love you too," I say softly, stroking her hair. When she's quiet for a while, I add, "I'm glad you're home."

"Yeah… I know I've been taking too many shifts…"

"Em… Why do you do that?" I ask, nervous for the answer.

"I guess because I… I hate being here and feeling like a piece of shit. That's why I started going to therapy. I don't want to hate myself anymore."

Shocked, I ask, "What are you talking about?"

"I hate myself, Regina. I hate who I've become and how empty I feel and what a shitty wife I turned out to be."

"You're not a shitty wife!" I shout.

She looks away.

"Oh, Emma," I sigh. "Baby girl. I didn't know you felt that way. I'm sorry."

"I want to be better for you, Regina."

"Emma—"

She interrupts me, asking, "Why don't we make love anymore?"

"B-Because we're both… busy…" I try, but it doesn't feel like the truth.

"You and I both know that's not it."

"I don't know, Em. I just… I don't know."

"Do you still find me attractive? At all?"

"Emma! Of _course _I do!" I cry, grabbing her hands.

"Then… do you want to try?"

My eyes widen.

"N-Now?"

"If you want to."

"I do…"

Emma finally smiles and picks me up, carrying me bridal style up the stairs. It's stunning how strong she is, and when I look down at the flexing muscles in her arms, I blush. She nearly tears her clothes off when we reach our bedroom. It's been so long since we've done this – so long since I've wanted it this bad – that I nearly forget to take off my own clothes, since I'm so entranced by her naked body.

"You gonna join me, or do you want me to come all over your trousers?" she giggles, gently pushing me back until I'm sitting on the edge of the bed.

I start to fumble with the clasp of my pants, but my hands are shaking. Why am I so nervous? It's not like we haven't done this 1000 times in the first few years of our marriage. Emma pushes my hands away and makes quick work of the clasp and zipper, then jerks my pants and underwear down in one go. Soon, I'm completely naked and vulnerable in front of her, and she stops to stare at me.

"Am I… do I look…" I start, my face bright red with embarrassment.

This is so stupid. Why can't I get it together? For some reason, it feels like the first time.

Emma smiles at me and says sincerely, "You look stunning."

She eases me back onto the bed and kneels between my legs, and when she dips her fingers into my core… _Oh._

"Fuck," I gasp.

Then, she's knuckle deep, curling her fingers to stroke the walls of my center, and I'm almost bursting already.

"Oh, _Emma_," I'm moaning.

Her name falls from my lips over and over as I squirm on the bed. She holds me in place and continues her delicious assault until I come, soaking her fingers. It's so good that I'm screaming – _screaming_ – her name as everything explodes and bursts into white light.

_**Chapter 6: Ruby**_

I burst into tears as soon as Dr. Mills shuts the office door, and she stares at me. I know she's completely shocked by my sudden display of emotion, but I can't hold it back. This is the only place I've ever felt safe. _Wait. Fuck. Seriously?_

"Ms. Lucas?" she questions. "Can I get you some tissues?"

But they're literally right in front of me, so I grab a few myself and hold my head in my hands. I hate myself for crying, but I can't help it.

When she sees that I'm hiding – really, truly hiding – she asks, "Would you like to tell me what's going on?"

I shake my head immediately but feel my lie burn through me. I'm tired of lying. I'm tired of hiding.

I lift my head and look at her, sobbing, "I snuck a guy into my room last night. Granny heard us fucking and told me to get out."

"Oh, Ruby," Dr. Mills says softly. "I'm so sorry."

I wonder if she really is. It feels like she might be, but I don't want to trust her. I can't trust her. At least, I don't think I can. Maybe she's trustworthy, but that doesn't mean I can take down my walls. God, am I sick of the fucking walls.

"Don't be sorry. It's my fault. I'm a fucking slut, and she knows it. No wonder she wants me out of her life."

"Did she say she wants you out of her life, or that she wants you to move out of her place?"

I pause, then reply, "Well… I guess she just said I had to move out, but…"

I trail off, and she waits. When I don't say anything, she speaks.

"Perhaps she wants to set boundaries and enforce consequences, Ruby. Perhaps this isn't about wanting you in her life. Perhaps it's about doing what _she _feels is best for you. And maybe asking you to move out isn't what's best – I don't know – but I don't think it's you personally that she wants to get rid of. I think it's likely that she loves you very much and is simply trying to end the behaviors that she feels are inappropriate."

"They _are _inappropriate!" I scream.

I want to smash something, to throw it against the wall. This sucks. I've totally cracked up.

"Ruby," Dr. Mills probes gently. "Why do you think they're inappropriate behaviors?"

"Because they make me feel empty and pathetic. I'll sit on any dick I can get hard, Dr. Mills. It's disgusting."

"Do you remember when I asked you what you get out of that?"

I shake my head, confused.

"I asked you what you get from it. How it works for you."

"Oh."

"Do you think you could try to tell me how you feel about that?"

I shake my head.

"Alright," she says.

She's letting it drop, and I'm grateful. But I have this intense wave of emotion that crashes through me. A compulsion to tell her everything.

"I cut myself after the guys leave."

She stares at me. At least, it feels like she's staring. I try to read her expression, but it's gentle and non-judgmental. I wonder what she's thinking, though. Does she think I'm as disgusting as I feel? Of course she does. God, I'm so fucked up.

"How often?" she finally asks.

"Every time," I confess, looking away.

"Ruby… Are you having thoughts of suicide?"

I sigh, considering her question, and reply, "I don't know. Maybe. Some days I feel like… like… Why am I doing this? What's the point? But I don't want to die, Dr. Mills. I just want to _feel _something."

She nods, and I wonder if she really understands. Maybe she does…

"I think that's a perfectly natural response to the pain you must be feeling."

"How do you know I'm in pain?" I sniffle.

"Because you burst into tears as soon as you got into my office."

"Yeah, well…"

"It's alright, Ruby. It's okay to cry in here. This is a safe place."

"God, that's fucking corny," I chuckle, wiping my eyes.

She smiles at me and says, "Maybe. But it's true nonetheless." Then, when I'm silent, she asks, "Do you think that if you _didn't _sleep with people, you wouldn't harm yourself?"

"I probably wouldn't."

"What is it about that situation that compels you to hurt yourself?"

"The sex, I guess. The empty feeling when the guy puts his dick in me and comes without thinking twice about whether I'm going to or not. How empty I feel when they leave, and I'm alone, having given away the most intimate part of myself for absolutely nothing."

Dr. Mills nods again and tells me, "I can understand that, Ruby."

"Really? You don't think I'm a freak?" I ask anxiously, wringing my hands.

"Of course I don't think you're freak."

"Then what do you think is wrong with me?"

"I don't think anything is wrong with you, Ruby. I think you make maladaptive choices in an effort to fill the void you feel, but really you just end up feeling emptier when it's over, so you repeat the cycle in the hopes that something will be different. Or…"

"Or?"

"Or perhaps you're punishing yourself."

I stare at her, dumbfounded. Both things are true. I _am _punishing myself. I don't really know what for, but I'm definitely doing it.

"Oh," I say, my voice small and meek.

I'm embarrassed to be open and vulnerable, and I'm shocked by her level of understanding.

"Thank you for sharing that with me, Ruby," she says, offering me a warm smile. "I greatly appreciate you being so open."

I nod, but I still feel horrible about myself.

"I hate myself, Dr. Mills. I really, truly hate myself."

"Maybe that's something we can work on, Ruby. But first, I think it might be helpful to work on some coping skills for distress tolerance."

"Okay. Time's up though. Next week?"

She nods and smiles at me. _God, she's beautiful. Fuck. What am I thinking?_

I leave the office with my appointment card, eyes red and puffy, as my heart races.

_**Chapter 7: Regina**_

"How was work, babe?" Emma asks, kissing my forehead and placing her hands on my hips.

"It was great, actually. That client I was telling you about had a huge breakthrough today," I tell her. "I'm really proud of her."

"That's great, honey! I'm really happy for you."

"How was therapy tonight?" I ask gently.

I know she might not want to share this, but I also know that I want to show interest and concern, so she knows how much I care.

"It was alright…"

"Just alright?"

"We got to the root of some… shitty things…"

"I see."

"We talked about my being in foster care, and how that affected the way I relate to other people."

"You don't have to tell me what you talked about, Emma. That's between you and your therapist."

"I kind of want to tell you."

"Alright. Let's sit down."

With a nod, Emma sits down on the couch and looks over at me as I sit down beside her.

"Emma?" I ask, after a long moment of silence.

"Yeah. Sorry. Um… So…"

"Emma, if you don't want to—"

"I _need _to. It's not fair that you don't know."

I quickly survey what I _do _know. Emma had been in foster care. Emma had been… Wait. Is that all I know? My stomach drops. From my own experience working with children and adolescents, for two years after graduating with my doctorate, I know how terrible foster care can be for kids. Why hadn't I thought of this in the context of Emma's experience? _Shit._

"I was raped, multiple times, by different 'dads' who were supposed to take care of me. I never told anyone," Emma explains, her voice breaking during several of her words. "And I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

"Oh, Emma. Please don't say that! I completely understand how dark parts of our past are hard to share."

"But I should have—"

My stomach drops. _How could she keep this from me? How could I not know? What else hasn't she told me? _I can't stop the thoughts, but I control my reaction.

"Emma. No. You did exactly the right thing. You waited until you were ready."

"I don't know if I'm 'ready,' exactly. But it was time you knew why certain things hurt so much. Why I have trust issues. Why it's hard for me to connect. Why I'm so… sensitive…"

"Emma. Baby…" I say softly, wrapping my arms around my wife and holding her gently. "I'm here, okay? And I may not have experienced what you have… but I understand how hard it must be to talk about it. I'm proud of you for sharing that in therapy."

"You are?"

"Yes, of course! It's a struggle to open up to someone you don't really know. How did it go?"

"It went really well, actually. It was just hard."

"I'm sure it was. What did your therapist say?"

"She told me it wasn't my fault…. Which is stupid and obvious to other people, I guess… but it wasn't obvious to me. And it felt good to hear it. But I don't know if I believe it. Maybe if I hadn't—"

"Emma, no! There is _nothing _you could have done to deserve that. Do you understand?"

"Not really, no," Emma confesses. "I'm sorry. I'm just not there yet."

Calming somewhat, I nod my head in understanding.

"It's okay, Em. I'm here. What else did she say?"

"She asked me if I thought it was affecting my marriage…"

I blink a few times, not daring to ask what Emma's response had been.

"It has," Emma offers, knowing what I'm thinking. "I know it has. And I'm so, so sorry."

"Please don't be sorry for something you can't control."

"But I can control it, Regina. I can't change what happened to me, or what others do, but I have the power to change how I react."

"That's… That's a really powerful thing to say, Emma… and I'm… I'm really impressed that you got there so fast. It takes some people years."

"Did you expect it to take me years to square with whatever I was dealing with?"

"I didn't expect anything. I just had hopes that you'd feel relief from whatever you were struggling with," I tell my wife. "Why do you think it's affecting our marriage?"

Sighing, Emma hangs her head in her hands and confesses, "Because I don't trust you."

I feel the freight train plow directly into my stomach and flinch. I'm glad that Emma hasn't been looking to see my reaction. _Fuck. _

"I don't trust anyone," Emma then clarifies, when I fall silent.

"It's okay," I manage to squeak out, not sure if I'm lying. "I get it. Maybe it'll just take time. I just hope you can trust me someday…" After another pause, I ask, "Why did you marry me, though, if you didn't trust me?"

"Because it was sort of… shit or get off the pot… You know? Like, I didn't want to lose you. I love you so much. Unconditionally. I didn't want to let that go. And I knew it was what you wanted. And I would have – and still would – do anything to keep you in my life."

"But you didn't _want_ to?"

"No, it's not that! I was just afraid. Afraid you'd leave me. Afraid you'd cheat on me."

"You think I'd cheat on you?" I snap, hating that I sound angry but unable to bridle my emotions.

"I don't know, Regina. That's the point. I don't trust anyone. I'm sorry that that includes you."

"I would never, ever cheat on you, Emma."

"It's easy to say that. It's not easy to believe it, though."

I nod, knowing that there is no way to easily mend Emma's trust issues, and feel somewhat defeated.

"This isn't your fault, Regina," Emma assures me. "You haven't done anything wrong."

"I think I've neglected you," I tell her.

"What?"

"I think I've neglected you," I repeat.

"I've shut you out. I've made it hard for you to engage me."

"Maybe…" I admit. "But we can change that, I think."

"You think so?"

"Yeah, I do. I'm determined to prove my love to you, Emma."

"I love you, Regina…"

I smile and kiss her lips, savoring the taste, just the way I did before we were even married.

_**Chapter 8: Ruby**_

"I have to tell you something," I blurt out, as soon as Dr. Mills' office door is closed.

"Sit down?" she offers gently, gesturing to the comfortable chair in front of hers.

I sit.

"I think… I think I met someone that I…"

"Please, go on, Ruby," she urges me carefully, when I find myself unable to continue.

"I can't. I don't want to say it, but I have to tell you."

"Ruby, is everything alright?"

"Yes. Yes. Things are great. I mean… I met… I met this girl…"

She raises an eyebrow. I'm sure she didn't mean to, but there it is.

"Go on, Ruby."

I sigh and continue, "She's beautiful. I mean, I've never seen someone as beautiful. She's… She's sweet, and kind, and loving… Too good for me, really, but she _likes _me! Really, really likes me. At least… That's what she says."

"You don't believe her?"

"I don't know if I believe her or not, but I definitely want to."

"And what makes you think she's too good for you?"

"Because she's _perfect. _She's a librarian and she's so smart and adorable and funny and… and… just… everything. She's everything."

"It sounds like she makes you very happy."

"I've only known her like a week, but _yes. _Yes. Incredibly so."

"That's wonderful, Ruby! I'm very happy to hear that you've found someone who makes you feel that way."

"Except…"

"Except?"

"Except she kind of deals meth," I reply, trying to keep a poker face. When she just looks at me, saying nothing, I pout, "I was kidding. The least you could do was to give me a reaction."

"Is that what you're looking for? A reaction?"

"No!" I shout, indignant. "I just meant…"

"It's okay if you are, Ruby. But I'm never going to assume that you're lying. So please, don't expect a reaction from that type of thing. I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt."

Seriously? Does she have to be so damn _nice?_

"Alright. Fine. Well, anyway… her name is Belle, and I'm seeing her again tonight."

"What was the 'except?'" she asks, looking at me curiously.

"Except I'm scared to sleep with her."

"And why is that?"

"Because I actually _like _her. What if it makes me feel empty, like it does with everyone else?"

I feel my eyes watering and hate myself for it. I hate displaying this kind of emotion. But I can't help it, so I reach for a tissue and jerk one roughly from the box, quickly wiping my eyes. _Nope. Not obvious at all._

"Do you think it will?"

"I don't know. I just don't want this to be ruined. Like, maybe if I never sleep with her, it won't change. Maybe I'll stay in my ignorant, blissful little bubble forever if we don't fuck."

"Or…"

"But that would never work anyway," I cut her off, my voice cracking. "Everyone needs sex in a relationship, right? Like why would she waste her time if she wasn't going to get any?"

_Finally, _she looks a little surprised.

"Ruby… Sex isn't the _only _important part of a healthy relationship."

"But it _is _a part of it. Who would want to be with someone who wouldn't have sex with them?"

"Have you asked her that?"

"Asked her what?"

"If she'd be with you, even if you didn't have sex?"

"Of _course _not! Don't be stupid!"

_Yikes… Just a bit harsh…_

I blush a little, looking away, unwilling to apologize but feeling bad about my outburst.

"You can't tell the future, Ruby, and you're not a mind-reader. If _you_ don't wantto have sex, maybe she doesn't either. You never know until you discuss it with her."

"I didn't say I don't want to have sex with her. I just said I'm scared that it'll change everything."

She nods her understanding and concedes, "It may."

"Well, that doesn't make me feel better."

"Did you want me to lie?"

This is relatively blunt for her, so it becomes my turn to look surprised as I mumble, "Well, no, but…"

"I'm not going to lie, Ruby. I will always be honest with you about the things we discuss in here. And it's true. You having sex with her may change things between you. _However… _It may actually change things for the better. You may feel some relief that you _don't _feel empty. It's a possibility."

"Anything's possible, I guess."

"That's very true."

"So you think I should have sex with her?"

"That's… not what I said."

"Well, what do I do then?"

"I can't tell you that. You need to make that decision. But I can ask you to consider all possibilities, rather than just the catastrophic ones."

"You're using cognitive reframing, and it's pissing me off," I challenge her.

She looks surprised again. _Yes! _I'm thinking. _I'm winning._

It's kind of a game to me. How badly can I shock my therapist? Going well so far! I'm on a roll.

"Why does that upset you?"

"Because it's… just… so… _therapist_."

"I _am _a therapist, Ruby. I'm your therapist. And it's my job to give you a different angle on things and to confront, as gently as possible, any cognitive distortions that arise. Is that not why you're here? For some guidance?"

"No. I'm here because Granny wants me to be less angry."

The corner of her mouth twitches, and I think she might smile, but she doesn't.

Instead, she replies, "And are you?"

"Am I what?"

"Less angry."

I freeze, dumbfounded by the realization that, yes, I am less angry. I've been happier spending time with Belle this past week than I've been almost… well… _ever._

"I guess so," I mumble.

She smiles and says, "I'm glad to hear that. What do you think contributes to that change?"

Good. She's not taking credit.

"I dunno. Belle, I guess. She's just… wonderful."

"So you said. But do you think it's anything within you that could be assisting with that change? Maybe a new mindset?"

"No."

I _said _no, but what I meant was, _maybe. _

"Alright."

"Time's up. Gotta go."

I stand up quickly and grab my bag, then turn towards the door.

"Ruby," she calls after me. "Same time next week?"

"Sure thing."


	3. Chapter 3: Part III

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: For those of you who are not familiar with the diagnostic criteria for Borderline Personality Disorder (Diagnostic and Statistical Manual 5 diagnostic code: 301.83), they are as follows, and I have italicized those which Ruby has displayed behaviorally or can relate to emotionally:**

Borderline Personality Disorder

A pervasive pattern of instability of interpersonal relationships, self-image, and affects, and marked impulsivity beginning by early adulthood and present in a variety of contexts, as indicated by five (or more) of the following:

(1) frantic efforts to avoid real or imagined abandonment (Note: Do not include suicidal or self-mutilating behavior covered in Criterion 5.)

(2) **_a pattern of unstable and intense interpersonal relationships_** characterized by alternating between extremes of idealization and devaluation

(3) identity disturbance: **_markedly and persistently unstable self image or sense of self_**

(4) impulsivity in at least two areas that are potentially self-damaging (e.g., spending, sex, substance abuse, reckless driving, binge eating). Note: Do not include suicidal or self-mutilating behavior covered in Criterion 5.

(5) recurrent suicidal behavior, gestures, or threats, or **_self-mutilating behavior_**

(6) **_affective instability due to a marked reactivity of mood_** (e.g., intense episodic dysphoria, **_irritability_**, or anxiety usually lasting a few hours and only rarely more than a few days)

(7) **_chronic feelings of emptiness_**

(8) **_inappropriate, intense anger or difficulty controlling anger_** (e.g., frequent displays of temper, constant anger, recurrent physical fights)

(9) transient, stress-related paranoid ideation or severe dissociative symptoms

**Ruby meets six out of nine criteria, which meets requirements to be able to diagnose an individual with this disorder, as only five are needed. I realize I have not yet demonstrated in the story how each and every one of these comes into play, but I will.**

**That being said, I would also like to point out that _not everyone with trauma develops borderline personality disorder, _and it was never my intent to imply such. However, we know from research studies that it does, in fact, play a role, and that a very high portion of individuals have experienced significant trauma and many even have a co-occurring diagnosis of Posttraumatic Stress Disorder.**

**This has been an educational public service announcement from your author. Please enjoy the next chapter, and thank you for reading! Feedback is always appreciated.**

* * *

_**Chapter 9: Regina**_

"Babe?" I call out, peeking into the living room for any signs of Emma.

Her car is in the driveway, so I'm pretty sure she's here, but I don't hear a sound, so I'm concerned when I don't see her at first. Then, I notice her laying on the couch, eyes shut. Then I do hear something: the soft sound of her snoring.

I smile. Fully. Warmly. Genuinely. For the first time in a long time.

"My sweet, sweet girl," I whisper to her, kneeling beside the couch and leaning in to stroke her hair.

She whimpers in her sleep but doesn't wake, and I'm still smiling. She's beautiful. I don't want to wake her. I really don't. But I also know her back and neck will hurt in the morning if I leave her here, so I gently stroke her face.

"Come on, baby. Time for bed."

She grumbles, and it's so endearing that my heart swells.

"Come on. Let's cuddle."

She's still half asleep, but I notice her lips curling into a smile as she slowly rises to her feet as I stand. Shortly after making our way up the stairs, we're naked. I pull her beneath the sheets and hold her body against mine. Feeling her pert nipples against my chest is arousing. It wakes something inside me. But I know how tired she is, and how much she needs sleep, so I take a few deep breaths to calm the sensations and stroke her hair until she falls back asleep.

_**Chapter 10: Ruby**_

"I let her make love to me," I announce, as soon as Dr. Mills shuts the door.

She doesn't look surprised this time. She looks calm as we both sit down in our respective chairs.

"How was that for you?" she asks.

I pause. Obviously, I feel something, or I wouldn't have blurted this out so quickly and bluntly.

"I'm not sure."

"Alright. What were the emotions?"

"When?"

"Throughout. Walk me through it?"

"You want the dirty details?"

"No, Ruby. Just the emotions. But you can tell me anything you'd like to."

"Well… I guess when I shut the door to my room, I was nervous," I confess slowly, shifting in my seat. "And then, when she started to kiss me, I felt… I don't know. My heart was… pounding. Aching. Growing."

When I pause, she urges me, "Go on."

"She said something… Something kind of… weird."

"Alright. What was it? And why was it weird?"

"She said, 'I love you,'" I tell her. "As she was leaning me back on the bed. I felt my stomach drop completely. It was all so fast. I was terrified, I guess. I didn't say it back, but she didn't react to that. She just smiled at me and said, 'Sorry.'"

"She apologized?"

"Yeah. But she didn't make a big deal out it. She just went with the flow. And yeah, it was terrifying… and I couldn't say it back… but it was also… intoxicating."

"How so?"

"It put me at ease and set me on fire at the same time."

"Hmm."

"And when she started… you know… When I let her… um…"

Suddenly, I'm feeling shy. This isn't like me at all. And I wonder… is this because it's _real?_ Is it because I'm finally telling her the truth?

"It's alright, Ruby. You don't have to—"

"No. I can do this." I swallow hard and press on with, "As soon as she put her fingers in me, I cried."

"That's different, for you," she comments.

I know she's right, but I stay silent, because I want to hear where she's going with this.

"You told me that, when having sex with men, you cry once they're gone. Not during."

"That's true. But with Belle… it was so different. And it wasn't… They weren't… tears of shame…"

"What kind of tears were they?"

"Relief."

"Could you tell me more about that?"

I sigh. I don't know what to say or how to describe how it felt.

"I'm having trouble with this," I admit, averting my gaze.

"Ruby," she says gently. "That's perfectly alright. It's difficult to identify the emotions we feel sometimes. But you're doing great. Please, try to stay with it."

I squirm in my seat. I'm scared to say these things.

But I try.

"I, um… I was relieved because… um… I guess that I… I didn't feel empty. For once in my entire life, I didn't feel empty. I felt _whole. _I felt like everything was going to be okay. And there was this weird thought…"

"What was the thought?" she asks, when she notices that I've trailed off.

She wants me to keep going, so I try not to give up.

"I was thinking, 'Yes, she could leave me. But in this moment. In this moment, right here and now, she says she loves me, and for once, I _believe _it. I hear how sincere she is. So even if this ends… even if it ends in _pain… _this moment is real. _I'm _real. She's here with me, and it's going to be okay.'"

Dr. Mills is staring now. She won't press me. She's waiting for me to continue, and she's refusing to help now. She knows her silence will challenge me. She also knows I hate silence and that I find it painful. I sort of resent her for doing this to me, but I'm starting to understand why she won't let me off easy. I could run from this. I could get up and leave. I want to. But I'm not giving up. I accept her challenge and press on.

"I was thinking, 'Everything is as it should be. I'm not doing this to punish or abuse myself. I'm doing it because I _feel _something for her. A lot of something. And that's okay.' And in that moment, I felt like… like everything was going to be okay." I pause, then blurt out, "And I let her stay!"

Hearing the enthusiasm in my own voice, I realize that I'm proud of myself, and excited about my small move towards emotional growth.

"Ruby…" Dr. Mills says gently. "You have just said something _incredibly _profound."

"What?"

"'Everything is as it should be.' That's radical acceptance, Ruby, and some people take _years _to find it. It's one of the core principles of Dialectical Behavioral Therapy."

"What's Dialectical Behavioral Therapy?"

"We can talk about that some more some other time. Right now, I want to stay with this. We have a few more minutes."

"But I—"

I'm surprised when she interrupts me.

"How did you feel _afterwards?_"

"I felt fantastic. It wasn't just the sex, either. It was just… being present in the moment."

She can't hide it anymore. She beams at me and shakes her head.

"You have so much to be proud of right now, Ruby."

I stare at her, dumbfounded.

"So much," she continues. "You have come so far. And I want to validate just how difficult your journey has been. And you've gotten through it. No one is perfect, and it's a long road, but you're starting out very strong on the beginning of your journey."

"I even let her hold me all night. And when I woke up, she made me breakfast and kissed me goodbye and said she'd call me," I rush out. "And guess what!"

"What?" she asks with a smile.

"She _did _call me!"

"Ruby, that's wonderful."

"You know the best part?"

"You'd have to tell me."

"I was happy because of me. Because of my own self-acceptance. Not because of her. Although it was beautiful to have someone so wonderful be a part of it."

"That… _That, _right there, is incredible, Ruby," she says enthusiastically.

I can tell she means it.

Then, she says, "We're out of time for today, Ruby, and I'm very excited and happy for you. I want you to know that this change of mindset can take you anywhere you want to go. And that I believe – really, truly believe – that you can feel better, all from your own decisions, if you continue to make them this way. No one can take that from you, once you have it." She pauses, then says, "And I want to thank you, Ruby… so much… for sharing that with me."

_Fuck_, I'm thinking. _I've never felt so fucking validated in my whole entire life. _This is what love feels like. I feel it for Belle, and I feel it for her. I want to hug her so bad, but for once, I respect boundaries – hers and my own – and refrain. I know it wouldn't be professional. I just wish I had some way to thank her…

But I can't articulate it. I'm too embarrassed. So I smile to let her know I'm satisfied with the session, then leave the office.

_**Chapter 11: Regina**_

"You're not going to believe what happened today," I blurt, as soon as Emma walks in the front door.

"What?" she asks with a smile, wrapping her arms around me.

"That client I was telling you about… She found radical acceptance and self-validation… completely on her own."

"That's wonderful, babe! I bet you're really happy to see her make progress."

"I am. I really, really am," I tell her, grinning. "But hey, how was therapy? You feeling alright?"

"Actually, it was a really good session. And…"

"And?"

"And I was wondering if you'd join me sometime soon…"

"Oh, wow. Um…"

"Maybe that was stupid. Nevermind. I know you're busy and you work late. I just thought…" Emma manages to get out. "I don't know what I was thinking. Nevermind. I'm sor—"

"No, wait," I stop her, cupping her face in my hands. "I'd love to. I'll reschedule some clients."

"Wait. Gina, you don't have to—"

"I know I don't have to. But I want to."

"Really?"

"Yes, really."

"Regina… You are so fucking wonderful," she sighs.

I blush and drop my hands to my sides, but she kisses me passionately and recaptures my attention.

"Upstairs," she says breathlessly, after finally slowing her tongue and breaking away.

I raise an eyebrow, and for a moment, I see the self-doubt wash over her features. Without hesitation – I know I need to validate her vulnerability right now – I grab her hand and tug her towards the stairs.

What feels like seconds later – but was probably something like fifteen minutes – I have her panting and gasping for air, writhing beneath me, and calling out my name.

"Good girl," I coo, stroking her hair back as she comes down from her high. "My precious girl. My princess."

"My queen," she whispers, and I shiver at the words.

"I love you, Emma," I tell her, nuzzling against her neck.

When I move away to kiss her forehead, she's wearing a broad, satisfied smile.

"Thank you, Regina."

"You thought I was going to say no?" I laugh.

"Well… Maybe. You could have. I figured you'd be tired, but—"

"No? To you? Never again." She sighs and suddenly looks serious, so I add, "I think our lack of sex had a lot to do with our lack of communication. And I think now that that has improved, our sex life is going to continue to blossom."

"You think so?"

"What do you think?" I ask flirtatiously, slowly running my hand down her back.

"I think… I think feeling closer to you makes me want… more."

"See?" I say softly, stroking her hair. "We can do this."

"I thought you were going to give up on me."

"Not ever. Even when things were rough, I loved you. Through all of it. We struggled, yes, but it wasn't because we weren't made for each other. It's because we were both scared to be honest with each other. Would you agree with that?"

She nods, and I smile at her.

"Bedtime," I announce, pulling the covers up and curling my body against hers.

When she wraps her arm around me and begins to slowly rub my back, I feel warmth spreading from my stomach outwards and realize that I am finally, finally content. I know she loves me. Even if she can't trust me right now, she loves me. And that's really all I need to know.

_**Chapter 12: Ruby**_

"Dr. Mills?" I ask softly, slowly sitting down in the chair as she closes the door behind us.

"Yes, Ruby?"

"I think I fucked up."

She tilts her head _very _slightly – enough for me to notice – and looks at me quizzically.

"How so?" she asks gently.

"I told Belle that… that I cut."

"What happened next?"

"She looked at me with… with this intense… terrible… _pity._"

My eyes well with tears, thinking back on what I'm describing. I feel disgusting.

"Did she _say _she pities you?"

"Well, no, but… She didn't have to. I could see it all over her face."

"Are you sure it wasn't a look of concern, Ruby?"

I stare at Dr. Mills, stunned. This thought hadn't crossed my mind. All I can process is how fucking disgusting I feel.

Finally, I answer, "I guess I don't know. But it sure as hell _looked _like pity."

"How did the conversation end?"

"I don't know. I mean, she just kind of looked at me and squeezed my hand. She was running late for work, though, so we didn't really have a chance to talk about it after I told her. That was this morning. And now I'm too scared to text her, and she hasn't texted me, so… she probably thinks I'm as disgusting as I feel. Otherwise, she would have messaged me, right? I mean, since we started hanging out, she's texted me all day, every day."

"Maybe she's just processing. Maybe she doesn't know what to say right now and doesn't want to hurt you by saying the wrong thing. Maybe she's just trying to figure out how to help you or be there for you. Maybe she's just not sure what to do for you and feels scared."

"But—"

"Ruby… What do you think might happen if you tried to talk to her about this?"

"There's no way in hell I'mma be the first to text. No way. Not risking it. She could be ghosting me, and I'm _not _going to beg for attention. Especially not after this. If she really cared about me, she wouldn't leave me hanging like this."

"I'm going to stop you there, Ruby. Can I repeat back what you just said?"

I stare at her, unsure of where she's going with this.

"Sure…"

"'If she really cared about me, she wouldn't leave me hanging like this,'" she repeats. I don't get it, so I just keep staring until she continues, "That's a cognitive distortion, Ruby. Consider the facts I presented to you a moment ago. She _may _be going through her own thought processes regarding the information you presented her with, and she may be unsure of how to respond. That in and of itself does not mean she doesn't care about you. Now, yes, I acknowledge that she _could _be ghosting you. But it's not the likely scenario. The more likely scenario is that she's scared and unsure of how to proceed, and that she wouldn't want to hurt you, so she's trying to figure things out. That's my most educated guess about the woman you have spent all this time telling me about. I don't know everything. I could be wrong. But think about it. What was the last thing she said to you?"

"Uh… She kissed me on the cheek and whispered, 'I'll see you later, sweetheart.'"

"Now, does that sound like someone who wouldn't ever call or text again?"

I keep staring. Why does she always have to be right and make sense and use her stupid fucking logic brain on me?

"No," I concede. "I guess not. But maybe she was just pacifying me. Maybe she just felt bad for me."

"She called you sweetheart, did she not?"

"Well… Yeah…"

"If she was just trying to make you feel better, do you think she would have used that term of endearment?"

"Maybe not, but—"

"Ruby. Please, stick with this, and try to challenge the negative thoughts. It _is _possible that she cares very deeply for you, _even though she hasn't texted you yet._"

Shit. Maybe she's right.

"But how will I know?"

"You could call her. It's just one option. You could ask to speak with her and ask her how she feels about what you told her."

"No way. I'm too scared to know what she thinks. What if she thinks I'm as gross as I do?"

"It's possible, but _highly_ unlikely. But… can I ask… Did she not notice the scars when you two slept together?"

"That's how it came up. She saw them, and I admitted that I did it to myself. Not that it wasn't obvious, but still. Saying it was hard. I didn't care if any of the guys knew. Mostly, because they didn't care. They were getting laid. But Belle… I care about her. I really, really care about her. And what she thinks about me."

"I know, Ruby. I know you do. And I hope that someday, your self-esteem won't depend on what _anyone _else thinks about you."

I laugh, "Yeah, right. Like I'll ever feel good about myself."

"I think you will, someday. I think if you keep challenging your negative thoughts, and keep doing the work, you'll get where you want to be."

I try to read her. Try to look into her eyes and catch what she's not saying out loud. But she's a closed book. She's neutral. And it kind of hurts.


	4. Chapter 4: Part IV

_**Chapter 13: Regina**_

I know it was a hard session for Ruby, and I wish I'd been able to do more to comfort her. But I know she has to learn to self-soothe, and I know I can't hug her or be physical in any way, even though what this girl probably needs is a big hug from someone who cares about her.

I sigh as I walk through the door to my home on Mifflin Street. My wife greets me immediately, and although the weight of my last session is weighing on me, I feel relief as soon as Emma holds me and kisses my forehead.

"Hi, baby," she greets me.

I smile at her, but it's only somewhat sincere. I'm trying not to show how down I am, but of course, she can tell.

"What's wrong, sweetheart? What happened?"

"Sort of a rough session," I huff, dropping my keys on the table next to the door. "It's alright."

"Aww, babe. I'm sorry. But, hey… You know better than anyone that sometimes a rough session is what sparks the most change."

I stare at her, blinking dumbly. She's totally right. This could be Ruby's breakthrough. Maybe she'll soak in my words tonight and feel differently tomorrow. I know that even though my words were validating, my expression was not, and therefore, she probably feels like I don't _really _care about her. I hate that I get paid to make people feel better. They always think I do it for the money, when really, I'm there because I want to be. Getting paid just pays the bills, and I don't really care about that. I don't need the money. I need that feeling at the end of the day that I made a difference.

"You're a good therapist, Regina."

"How do you even know that?"

"Because you've told me plenty of stories about your clients being empowered to make changes in their lives."

"But _they _do that, not me."

"You empower them. They make the change on their own."

"Yeah, I guess that's true…"

"I'm hearing you being self-deprecating, and it's concerning. Are you feeling depressed?"

I blink a few more times. She's being awfully insightful right now, and it's unnerving. She's reading me better than I read myself.

"I guess I am. I don't know."

"Come sit down. I'll get you some cider."

"Hard, please," I laugh, sitting down on the couch.

"Regina…"

"What?"

"It's not funny. I don't want you drinking away your feelings."

"I'm not!"

"You're implying that you need a hard cider because you've had a hard day."

"Okay… Fine. Regular cider then," I grumble, leaning back and shutting my eyes.

She brings me back the drink and sits beside me on the couch.

"Gina?"

I open my eyes and take the drink.

"Listen," she says. "I know you're having a hard day, but you know that tomorrow will be better. Things will lighten up. But please, try not to let your mood depend on your patients' progress. It's on them, not you."

"But what if it's me holding them back?"

"You are a tiny – and important – part of your patients' lives. You are one little sliver of their life. One hour every week or so. They were surviving without you, and they'll survive despite any mistakes you may or may not have made in therapy."

"I know, intellectually, that you're right, but at the same time… I know that my words have a lot of impact on some people. They place meaning on how I respond to them."

"True enough. Still, you have to let them be independent and take responsibility for their own lives."

"But—"

"Regina. You're just arguing now."

I sigh, knowing – once again – that she's right.

"Sorry," I sigh, taking a sip of the apple cider. "Can I just go to bed now?"

"It's kinda early, babe. It's only six-thirty, and you haven't eaten anything."

"I don't feel like eating."

"But you know you have to."

"Yeah, but—"

"Sit tight, okay? I've got some stuff in the slow cooker."

"Emma… Can I just have something light, please? Like a salad? My stomach is in knots…"

She looks at me and bites her lip. I stare into her eyes. _She's so pretty. _A smile tugs at my lips. There's nothing like coming home to those shining, beautiful eyes looking back at me.

"What?" she asks, tilting her head in confusion as she notices my sudden smile.

"You're just gorgeous, that's all."

She laughs at me and shakes her head, saying, "Goober. And yes, I'll make you a salad. Greek, with a little bit of chicken?"

I nod, feeling overwhelmingly grateful for her.

_**Chapter 14: Ruby**_

I get home and scream into my pillow. I'm so happy to have Belle in my life, but it's so fucking frustrating to go to therapy and not be able to read Dr. Mills. What does she really think of me? She probably thinks I'm a fuck-up and just won't say it.

Then again, her words are supportive…

I just can't tell if they're sincere. Maybe she really does care. But it's so infuriating. I can't figure her out, and I want to. I'd give anything just to have dinner with her and hear about her life. I'd feel so much more connected. But I know that's not how this works. I know it wouldn't really help me, nor would it be appropriate. And it would probably damage our 'Therapeutic Alliance,' as she calls it.

Ugh. Whatever. Fuck that, anyway.

I pull my phone from my pocket and notice that I've received a message from Belle. My stomach flips, but I don't smile. What if she's telling me to fuck off?

"_Hey, gorgeous. When can I see you again?"_

My jaw drops. Wow. She really is into me! Shit. Maybe Dr. Mills was right. Maybe everything will be okay.

But I think about her last few words and sigh. She's right. I need to be happy with or without a partner. But that's hard, so I push the thought aside and decide to let myself lean on Belle for support and comfort. If she can accept my scars, so can I.

Maybe.

But the failure I've made – not being able to comfort or validate _myself, _on my own – gnaws at me all night. I'm dependent, and I hate it.

Still, I know it's okay to let someone help me be happy. My happiness just can't revolve around them completely. And I know I'll have to work on that… and that Dr. Mills will push and challenge me. I message Belle back and ask her to come over tomorrow night, then fall asleep with my stomach flipping and heart racing. The anxiety takes over.

_I have to be okay with being alone._

_**Chapter 15: Regina**_

The next time I see Ruby, she is back to her usual, chipper, well-put-together self.

"Good afternoon, Miss Lucas," I greet her in the waiting room.

She returns my smile brightly and follows me to my office.

"I asked Belle to marry me," she blurts, as soon as the door is closed.

And it's all over from there. I feel my self-control throwing itself out of the top window of a twelve-story building. Is she serious?

"Nah, I'm playin'," she adds with a cheeky grin.

I can feel my cheeks reddening.

She's being inflammatory on purpose.

"She tenderized me like a piece of meat last night though," Ruby continues, still maintaining her grin.

I want to roll my eyes, but I refrain and instead challenge her, "Ruby, I can't help but wonder if you're being intentionally provocative right now."

"So what if I am?" she asks defensively.

Again, I want to roll my eyes, and again, I refrain. She's testing me. I stay quiet, waiting for her to keep going (which I know she will).

"You should've seen her fucking me with the strap-on, railing me into the mattress… bending me over…"

"Where is this coming from, Ruby?"

"I dunno. Maybe I want to see if I can make you blush."

_Well_, I'm thinking. _It's very nearly working._

I wonder if she can tell that I'm into women.

I stay calm, though. I have to. Ruby needs me to stay calm. She needs me to validate, not to react.

"Do you think I'm offended by the fact that you've shared this with me?" I ask, genuinely curious.

"No. I'm wondering if you're aroused."

I check myself. I have to be mindful now, and I know it. Her features of Borderline Personality Disorder and impaired boundary-setting are showing. She _needs _me to validate. I know this. But _damn_ is it hard.

"Ruby," I say softly. "I'm not aroused. I'm confused as to why you're trying to get a reaction out of me."

"No, you're not," Ruby snaps. "You fucking know why."

I pause. She really is testing me.

"You're testing me, to see if I'll become upset and leave you."

She stares at me. I don't think this was the answer she was expecting.

"Maybe," she finally grumbles, calming somewhat and looking down at her feet.

"Well, I'm not going to leave," I assure her.

She lifts her gaze.

"Even if I piss you off?"

"You haven't pissed me off."

"But what if I did?"

"Were you trying to? Did you want to make me angry?"

"I don't know," Ruby sighs, rubbing her temples. "I don't know why I said all that. I thought I knew, but I guess I don't."

"Ruby, part of the symptoms of Borderline Personality Disorder are rocky, stormy, conflictual relationships, and this is partly spawned by being raised in an invalidating environment. People stop trusting themselves and others and begin to test boundaries. Emotional reactivity is an issue that rears its head in many relationships. But this isn't going to scare me away. We can keep working on it."

"But, I—"

"Ruby," I say sternly. "I'm not going to leave or kick you out."

"But I'm being an asshole."

I look into her eyes and wait.

Eventually, she says, "I'm sorry."

"It's alright. I understand this behavior, Ruby. We'll work on it together."

She starts to cry, and I feel my stomach drop. This poor girl. She's so symptomatic, and all I want is for her to see all the ways she can change. She doesn't believe she can improve her life, but I know she can.

"You'll get through this, Ruby," I promise. "You are stronger than you can see right now."

"I'm not though," she sobs, sliding off of the chair and onto the floor, where she buries her face in her hands.

"We're going to have to agree to disagree on this."

She laughs a little at this and I smile at hearing the sound.

"You're too nice," she chuckles, looking up and wiping her eyes. "And I'm a fuckin' hot mess."

"Why do you think I'm too nice?"

"I dunno," Ruby sniffles. "You just are."

I pause before testing the water by asking, "You don't feel worthy of my kindness?"

She stares at me, and I know I've hit a nerve.

Finally, she concedes, "No, I guess I don't."

"That must have been very hard to say," I point out, after another long pause. She nods, and I add, "You have a lot to be proud of, Ruby. Even just today, you've made amazing strides of progress."

"I… I have?" she asks weakly, wiping her eyes again.

I nod and offer her a smile of encouragement, telling her, "You're doing great, Ruby."

"Thanks, Doc," she says voice cracking. Then, after a pause, she asks, "Can we be done for today? I don't think I can take any more."

I look at her, satisfied by her breakthrough, and nod my head.

"I'll see you next week, right?"

"What, you think I'm gonna run and not come back?" she says with a teasing tone.

I offer her a warm smile and shake my head, answering, "No. Just checking in. I try not to assume."

"Thank you, Dr. Mills," Ruby says, rubbing the last of her tears from her eyes as she rises to her feet.

"Try to have a good day rest of your day. I'll see you next week."

_**Chapter 16: Ruby**_

I'm wearing a smile by the time I leave the session with Dr. Mills, but when I get to my car, the tears basically just explode from my eyes. _Pathetic, _I'm thinking, as I sob. _What am I even crying for? Oh, yeah. I'm a jerk. How could I act like that to Dr. Mills?_

I can't believe I behaved that way in the session. Why did I even try to get a rise out of her? Then, I hear her voice in my head: _'How does that work for you? What does that behavior do to get your needs met?'_

I groan and slam my head against the steering wheel. _Ouch! _It's definitely going to bruise.

My shame takes over, gripping the reins of my thoughts and making my chest feel tight and my mouth taste like copper as my heart races. All I can think is, 'I need to cut.'Then, I suddenly realize that this isn't going to stop any time soon, and square with the fact that I can't do this alone. Or if I do, I'll end up hurting myself again. I don't want to let Dr. Mills down. I don't want to let _myself _down. So I do the only thing I can and pull my cell phone out of my purse.

My hands shake as I dial the number. _What the fuck am even I doing? _Then, I reason, _'She'll understand. It's okay to need help.' _I realize in that moment that Dr. Mills' coaching is starting to pay off. I'm doing that 'cognitive restructuring' bullshit. And I'm actually kind of impressed with myself for trying this. It doesn't work at first, but I repeat the mantra, 'It's okay to need help,' and start to calm down. Still, I know I'm completely dysregulated.

When Belle answers the call, all I can do is sob.

'_Ruby? Ruby, what's going on? Are you okay?'_

Fuck. I can't talk. The words are stuck in my throat, begging to come out, but I just _can't._

But I have to. I can't just sit here sobbing.

And yet, that's exactly what I do, until finally, after several long, painful, embarrassing moments, Belle tells me, _'I'm coming to get you. I'll meet you at your apartment. Can you be there in fifteen?'_

"Uh-huh," I manage, after letting out a few more loud sobs.

'_It's okay, baby. I'm coming.'_

She hangs up, and I realize that I'm gripping the steering wheel so hard it hurts. The tears make my vision blurry, so I grab some tissues, wipe my eyes, and blow my nose before getting my shit together enough to put the car in drive.

It only takes me ten minutes to get home. I stand anxiously by the door, waiting for her to arrive, and the minutes tick by slower than I ever thought possible. _How has it only been four minutes? _I'm thinking. But finally, she knocks on the door. _Shit. Still crying._

I open the door, wiping my eyes, but the sobs keep coming.

"What happened, baby girl?" she asks me, immediately wrapping me in a tender embrace. "It's okay. You can tell me."

"I'm s-such a f-fuck up," I stutter, burying my face in her neck.

She sighs and strokes my hair, and I'm already starting to feel comforted by her touch.

"Ruby Lucas, you are _not _a fuck up," she tells me. "You are a smart, funny, charming, beautiful girl."

"I'm n-not. I… I…"

"Ruby, what happened?" she presses, suddenly gripping my shoulders with gentle hands and holding me away. "Please, tell me what's going on."

I pull her over to the couch and sit down, wiping my eyes once again as I sniffle, "I was a fucking asshole to my therapist. I was just trying to get a rise out of her." Choking back a sob, I continue, "Why am I like this?"

"Ruby… It's okay. I'm sure she understands that you're struggling. I don't know what your therapy is like, but these are things you can work on. You just have to be open with her and let her in. Okay?"

I sniffle more and offer a nod of understanding as she wraps an arm around my shoulders.

"And I'm right here," she vows, pressing a kiss to my temple.

Her lips are so soft that it feels like a butterfly landing on my skin, and it makes me shiver. Belle told me she loved me once – and apologized for saying it – but I'm realizing that I never said it back. I've never said it, actually. I know I need to now. She's the most perfect, supportive woman I could ever ask to have in my life. _Don't let her go, _I tell myself, trying to gather the bravery to tell her how I feel.

It's scary. My panic attack comes back, full-force, but I refuse to back down. I know I need to say this.

"B-Belle…" I start, then cough as a sob threatens to come out. She nods and squeezes me closer, and I finally say, "T-Thank you. I…"

"You what, honey?"

"I l-love you."

Her eyes go wide, and her reaction of surprise scares me even more, but when her lips curl into a gentle smile, I suddenly feel a wave of relief wash over me. I feel calmer. I feel _braver._

"Tell your face to use its inside voice," I chuckle, rubbing more tears from my eyes as they finally slow to a stop.

It's amazing how a simple, silent reaction from her can make me feel so much better. _This girl is everything, _I'm thinking.

She laughs at my teasing. She always does. But then she turns my head towards her, so our eyes meet, and carefully pulls me in for a tender kiss.

"I love you too, Ruby," she whispers, stroking my hair back. "And I'm right here, okay?"

I nod, finding it hard to believe. Finding it hard to trust. But I know I have to if I ever want this to go anywhere, so I take the leap and promise myself to surrender my heart to her.

She holds me as my breathing slows. I'm exhausted from crying so hard, and she seems to be exceptionally comfortable leaned back against the couch, so we fall asleep there.


	5. Chapter 5: Part V

_**Chapter 17: Regina**_

Here I am… sitting in a room with my wife and Dr. Hopper. He's her therapist, not mine. I know this. So I'm nervous about getting ganged up on, even though I know Emma wouldn't do this to me.

"Welcome, Regina. Thank you for joining us," Dr. Hopper says. "Emma, do you want to start by explaining to Regina why you've asked her to be here with you?"

"Well…" Emma starts, looking at me anxiously. "I wanted… I wanted help sharing… some things."

Dr. Hopper looks at her intently. I'm glad he's not jumping in to save her. Everyone in the room knows Emma need to say this on her own.

"Go ahead, Emma," Dr. Hopper says, offering my wife a gentle, encouraging smile.

"I've been keeping too much to myself," Emma sighs, hanging her head in her hands. "I let you marry me when you only know half my story."

I'm silent for a moment, but I realize quickly that she needs something from me, so I say, "Would you like to tell me the rest? I'd really like to know."

"Yes. Yes, I want to tell you, but… It's just very difficult for me to face. Dr. Hopper and I have been talking quite a bit about communication and my lack of it. I know I need to say these things, but I just… I feel like I can't."

"Is it something I've done?" I ask anxiously, trying to swallow the panic in my voice.

"No, Regina," Emma tells me. "It's me. It's my own shit. No one's perfect, of course. We get into arguments for various reasons. But the base code of our programming is a lack of communication. At least, historically, it has been. Things have been changing for the better between us, and I don't want that to stop. That's why you're here."

"Say what you want to say, Emma," Dr. Hopper urges her, trying to move her along to her point.

He knows we only have fifty minutes, and he knows she's going to get too scared to talk if she doesn't do it quickly. Then, as I'm sitting here, I realize… He knows my wife better than I do. I'm disgusted by my own fury, but there it is, rising up in me like bile in my throat. How could she keep these things from me? How could she hide her past this way? I have to remind myself that I've never actually _asked _her what happened when she was in foster care. Still, crucial details like this should have been brought up a hell of a lot sooner. Emma's right: I married her knowing only half the story.

Finally, Emma speaks, her voice sounding choked and broken, "I have flashbacks when we have sex."

My hearts stops, silencing my anger with it. I don't know what to say. Thankfully, she continues, so I don't have to come up with something. What the hell could I say to that anyway?

"That's why I wasn't initiating sex," my wife explains sadly, daring to lift her head just enough to glance at me out of the corner of her eye. When she sees me start to cry – _Fuck, why am I crying? – _she whimpers, "I'm sorry, Gina. I should have told you."

My lips part slightly as I try to form words, but when Dr. Hopper realizes that I'm having trouble processing, he jumps in, asking, "Regina, what is it like to hear that from Emma?"

"I don't know," I breathe, staring at my wife's beautiful, tear-stained cheeks.

I was really hoping this wasn't going to be so heavy. At least Dr. Hopper is gentle – with her and with me – and is only pushing us enough to challenge, not to upset.

Emma looks away from me when she realizes that I have no words to express my feelings. I have no idea what to think right now. All I can imagine is the sporadic times we have had sex since being married, and how Emma must have been living in torture during them. I can't even imagine having a flashback to trauma while trying to make love to my wife. I can't imagine associating something so vile with something that's supposed to be so incredibly loving. Then, I wonder if this is my fault. Maybe if I'd been gentler? Kinder? More attentive? Then, maybe she wouldn't have had flashbacks.

I shake myself out of this distortion quickly, knowing how dangerous it is to blame myself for Emma's trauma. Still, I feel terrible.

Softly, I say, "I wish I'd known."

"We can't change what you knew then," Dr. Hopper tells us. "But you can go forward with what you know now. Emma, what would you like Regina to do with this information?"

"Nothing!" she cries immediately. "I don't want anything to change between us. I just didn't want to keep it from you, Gina. I don't want anything to change."

"I'm not going to be what triggers you," I tell her quickly. "If having sex with me is triggering, then we won't—"

"Regina," Dr. Hopper cuts in, as gently as possible. "Let's try to listen to what Emma is saying she wants, alright? And then you can both decide _together _how to proceed. Right now, you're both trying to make the decision on your own, but this will need to be a team effort for both of you. Now, please. Try to talk it out."

Emma huffs and leans back against the couch, her eyes falling shut as more tears drip from her eyes.

"Listen to me," Emma finally says, after a pause, sitting up straight again. "I'm not asking you to change anything. If I didn't want to have sex with you, I wouldn't. I know what you're thinking right now. You—"

"Emma," Dr. Hopper says sternly. "Be careful. You're not a fortune teller, or a mind-reader. Say what you need to say and let Regina speak for herself, please."

Sighing, my wife continues, "I'm sorry. Dr. Hopper is right. I guess I don't really know what you're thinking. I'll just speak for me, then. Regina, I'm concerned that you're worrying that I feel obligated to have sex with you, and I really, really don't. Remember all those times when we first started dating? All those amazing, mind-blowing, spontaneous encounters?"

I nod slowly, wiping a few fresh tears from my eyes.

"Those were perfect, Regina. All of our intimacy is perfect to me. I only bring this up because I feel shame knowing that I keep it from you. All I need from you is to know that it happens and be there with me. Be present and love me, just like you already do now. I just couldn't stand the weight of keeping it to myself anymore. I don't bring this up to change a single thing. I'd tell you if something needed to be different. Okay?"

I reach for a tissue, but Emma grabs it first, gently handing it to me as she holds my free hand.

"I love you, Regina," she promises. "And I'm okay. It's something Dr. Hopper and I will continue to work on. I _am _okay. I'm just tired of keeping my past from you. You deserve to know."

I feel like sobbing, but I manage to hold it back enough to only let a few silent tears escape. I refuse to have a breakdown in Dr. Hopper's office.

"Regina," he says, addressing me. "Do you have anything you want to say or ask Emma?"

"I get why you kept it from me," I sniffle, my cheeks turning red from my uncomfortable display of emotion. "But is there anything I can do to help? Anything I can do to ease the pain, at all, even a little bit?"

Emma thinks about this long and hard before she answers me, "Just check on me. Bring me back to the present when you sense me drifting. And know I'm not drifting away from you. I'm just drifting back towards trauma. All I need is for you to be there and hold on to me. I love you, Regina."

"I love you too, Em," I tell her, embracing her tightly and kissing her cheek. "Thank you for bringing me in."

"Thank you for coming, Regina," Dr. Hopper says with a smile. "Emma has been working towards this for quite some time. And I think we can agree that she did a fantastic job tonight."

I nod enthusiastically and squeeze Emma's hand, knowing that even though this was difficult, I get to go home with her. I get to hold her as we lie in bed. She's mine, and I have no plans to let her go.

_**Chapter 18: Ruby**_

Belle leaves in the morning, and I feel shockingly empty again, like I haven't in a long time. _Why do I feel like this? _I wonder. _What the hell is wrong with me?_

She says she loves me, but how can I believe her? I can't. I can't. There's too much at stake for me. My heart. My mind. My fucking _sanity._

I can't be this vulnerable to her. _It has to stop_, I tell myself, growing frantic as I finally manage to crawl out of bed and shuffle into the bathroom.

The tears come full-force, wrecking all remnants of my composure. Soon, I'm slamming my fists on the sink until I think it might crumble. When it doesn't, I become furious and open the medicine cabinet. I leave my hand on the edge and slam the door shut on it, letting out a scream of pain as I feel the back of my hand immediately start to swell.

"Shit!" I scream, immediately punching the wall next to the cabinet.

There's a dent there. I've done damage, like I always do. I come through like a storm every time, and I hate it. All I can think about is what a fuck up I am and how I'm inevitably going to ruin everything with Belle. Not to mention, Dr. Mills says she won't leave, but I'm sure that she will. Even if she doesn't know it. I'll figure out a way to get her to bail on me. I always do. Even Gran kicked me out. Being in my own apartment sucks.

The razor blade I keep under the sink is calling my name, so loudly that I can't hear anything else anymore, so I open the door and grab it. Shaking and feeling faint, I stumble over to the toilet and sit down on it, not hesitating to drag the blade over my wrist, over and over and over again, until both my arms are covered in angry crisscrossed lines.

"SHIT," I scream again, realizing that I have an appointment with Dr. Mills later this morning. "Shit, shit, shit!"

I scramble to get dressed, realizing that I've wasted an unbelievable amount of time and that my appointment is in twenty minutes. Luckily, it's a ten-minute walk. I know I look like shit when I leave my shitty apartment, headed to my shitty therapy appointment, thinking about my shitty fucking life.

Dr. Mills greets me in the waiting room, and I can't meet her gaze. Can't see the way she's looking at me, probably painfully disappointed as she sees what a ridiculous mess I am. I've never showed up like this, but missing the session doesn't feel like an option. I don't know why, but here I am. She can't help me. No one can. But I show up anyway. _What the hell is wrong with me?_

_**Chapter 19: Regina**_

When I come in to the office the next morning, I have too much on my mind. I'm not in a good space, and I know this. I just hope I can give clients adequate care. Maybe I should go home for the day…

Then, I remember that Ruby is coming in at eleven. I know how high-risk she is, and I know that she needs to see me. We've been making too much progress for her to miss a week.

So I hang in there the rest of the morning, seeing my first three clients but feeling off my game.

At 11:00 AM, my secretary tells me Ruby is here. She's exactly on time. Usually, she's early. I can already feel that something is up, so as I walk to the waiting room, I take deep, slow breaths to calm the 'what-ifs' in my mind. Then, I see her. She looks like _shit. _Her normally silk-like hair is a mess, and she looks disheveled. Even when Ruby's not doing well, she fakes it like a professional. Today, she can't. This is _not _good.

She doesn't answer me when I greet her. She just stands up and follows me.

"Ruby?" I ask, as we step down the hallway.

She keeps her head down, watching herself step on the carpet as we make our way to my office, and doesn't respond.

"Ruby," I repeat, once my office door is closed. "What's going on?"

"N-Nothing," she stammers, her voice soft and weak. "I'm fine."

I stare at her for a minute, wondering what possibly could have gone so wrong to bring her this place I've never seen her go. She's lost inside herself, and I can tell, so I try to bring her back.

"What do you see right now?" I ask her.

"What?" she mumbles, looking up slightly, then back down again.

"Look around the room and tell me five things you see."

She ignores me.

"Ruby. Please? I need you to be present."

She knows what I'm doing, and I get the feeling she'd rather stay lost in her world than talk to me. But I'm glad she came in. She's making an effort. She knows she needs help.

"Five things," I repeat gently. "Just five."

"You," she says quickly, finally meeting my gaze. "Chair. Carpet. Shoes. Red."

"What?" I asked, shocked by the last word.

"Huh?" she asks dumbly, blinking at me.

"You said red. What do you see that's red?"

"I…" she starts, looking around the room. "I don't know."

"Where'd you just go?" I press her. "If you can't stay here, take me with you."

She shakes her head and tells me, "You don't wanna go where I go, Doc."

"Yes, I do," I promise. "Take me there. Tell me where you went."

"I don't know, okay? I'm just… not here."

"I know. How about four things you hear?"

She stops. I know she's listening for sounds, but it's obvious to me that she's struggling. She's having a flashback to something. I can see in her eyes that she's still not with me.

"Mom and Dad," she finally says. "Screaming."

I know from her chart that her parents were killed brutally when she was a teenager, but I'm shocked that this is where she's going.

"I ruin everything," she blurts suddenly, as I'm opening my mouth to speak.

"No," I tell her. "You respond in maladaptive ways, but you don't _ruin _anything. Everyone makes their own choices."

"And my choices ruin lives." I'm at a loss for a moment, and when I finally come up with what I want to say, she adds, "There's no point in this. I'm wasting your time."

She stands, and I panic.

"Ruby, wait," I call out, as she starts to gather her purse. "Stay. This isn't a waste. Stay with it."

She shakes her head and tells me, "I can't, Doc. I really just—"

"Ruby," I gasp, noticing for the first time that the gray sleeves of her shirt are soaked with red.

I know what the stain is from. It's not dark enough to be dry. It's a deep, wet red, and I know exactly what she's done.

"Sit down," I say, suddenly regaining my confidence.

Now, I know what I'm doing.

"No," she protests, realizing what I've seen and crossing her arms across her chest.

"Alright. Then stand. But don't leave."

"I don't want to be here," she says suddenly, and I see her sway a little as she catches herself on the armrest of the couch.

I'll do anything to keep her in my office, so I assert, "Right now, you need to be."

"No. I don't want to be _anywhere._"

My heart stops, then kickstarts into high gear. Yep. This is bad.

"Ruby, why? What happened?"

"Nothing happened," she says with a shrug. I see tears rolling down her cheeks as she adds, "Yet."

"What does that mean?"

My heart is still racing as she finally sits down. At least she's not going to run.

"It means I can't get anything right, so why the fuck should I be here? Why try? Why ruin Belle's life and bring her down with me when I can just end it now?"

"You want to end a relationship you just started?" I question gently. "I thought you were happy with Belle. What triggered this?"

"I don't know, okay? I don't fucking know what triggered it. I just know I ruin everything and that, no, I don't want to end the relationship I just started. I want to end _everything._"

"Ruby," I say carefully, trying to catch her gaze. "Are you thinking about killing yourself?"

She drops her eyes and pauses for a long time before answering, "Yes."

"Do you have a plan in place?"

Again, she pauses. I know the answer to this question.

"Yes."

I take a deep, steadying breath. I hate these moments. There haven't been many, but when I have to send a client to the hospital, it _sucks._

"Intent to do so?"

She nods and sniffles, "I can't stop it this time."

"Yes, you can," I try, but she immediately jumps in with a reply.

"I don't want to stop it. I'm done, Doc. I'm done."

"Ruby… Do you remember when you first started here and we talked about confidentiality? And when I have to break it?"

She looks confused, and I silently curse to myself. She doesn't remember. She's not thinking straight.

"I have to break confidentiality when you're a danger to yourself or others, and right now, I have to do what's called a Complaint and Prayer."

"A what?"

"A Complaint and Prayer is when I fill out paperwork that says I need you to be evaluated at the hospital, because I'm worried about your safety."

"NO FUCKING WAY," she screams, and I visibly wince at her reaction.

Shit, shit, shit. This is going to ruin everything we've worked for. Everything. Ruby's never going to trust me again. Still, I know I'm doing the right thing.

When she stands up and says, "I'm out," I'm confident that this is necessary.

"Ruby, sit. Please," I beg her. "Don't make this harder, okay? It doesn't have to be a big deal. Yes, the police come to escort you to the hospital, but it's just to keep you safe. If you leave, they'll have to look for you, and that would just make things worse."

"Is that a threat?" she snaps, and I wince again.

Her tongue is sharp right now, and it hurts. It hurts that I'm losing her trust. It hurts that she's angry with me. But again, this is what I have to do to protect her. If it means she never comes back, I have to be okay with that. I have to do what's best for Ruby, even if she hates me for it.

"It's a promise," I say sternly. "And not my doing."

"Of course it's your doing! You're the one sending me to the fucking hospital!"

"Ruby," I sigh. "It's to keep you safe. Please, just sit, and let's do this together."

"Fuck you, Regina," she growls.

She used my first name, and now I know exactly how angry she really is. When she reaches for the tissue box, I'm sure she's going to throw it at me, and I think, _Hey, at least it's not the lamp next to her. _ But she doesn't throw it at me. She throws it on the ground and starts to sob, collapsing into a heap on the floor.

"Ruby," I whisper, getting up to sit on the floor in front of her. "It's gonna be okay. I promise. You can get the help you need there. Maybe change some meds. Maybe—"

"I don't wanna go," she sobs. "Don't make me go."

"It's gonna be alright," I swear. "And you know what?"

She shakes her head in response, not daring to look at me.

I take in a breath, try to smile at her, and say, "I'll come visit you tomorrow night, if you're still there, okay? Promise."

She finally looks up at me, eyes red and scowling, saying, "I don't want to fucking see your stupid face ever again. Get that?"

I shrug and sigh, "Alright, Ruby. As you wish. But you're still going to the hospital. So you can run right now, and have them literally chase you, or you can sit here and relax until they get here and take you peacefully."

"They're gonna cuff me," she whimpers.

I bite my lip and nod as she looks up at me for my answer.

"I don't—" she tries, but I shake my head.

"It's not an arrest, Ruby. It's just for your safety."

"I am safe!"

I almost laugh at this contradiction, but I hold it in and say, "You're not safe, and we both know it. Let me see your arms?" She shakes her head and I beg, "Please?"

Reluctantly, she rolls up her sleeves, and my stomach drops.

"I'm going to get the first aid kit," I tell her, quickly rising to my feet.

"Wait!" she cries, reaching for me and grabbing my hand until it hurts. "Don't leave me."

I feel my heart breaking. I know she shouldn't touch me. I know this is a boundary violation. Not unethical, but questionable. But I know Ruby needs me right now.

"I'm coming right back," I promise her. "It's right outside the door. You'll be able to see me."

She nods weakly and lets go of my hand. When I come back with the small box, taking her hands to wrap them in gauze, she whimpers.

"Hurts," she whines.

Yeah, it does. My heart is in pieces. This poor girl. She must feel incredibly desperate to have finally reached rock bottom.

"I'm here," I tell her softly, finishing my bandaging. "I'm going to sit at my desk to complete the paperwork. I won't be far."

Ruby nods and leans back against the couch, hugging her knees to her chest.

_**Chapter 20: Ruby**_

Just like in the movies, I share one last, pathetic glance with Dr. Mills before they put in me in the squad car, my hands cuffed in front of me.

"It's gonna be alright, hun," the female officer says, looking back at me as she pulls out of the parking lot. "You won't be there forever."

I'm stunned by her gesture of empathy. I always expect cops to be jerks, but this one seems alright. Still, I'm totally dysregulated, tears streaming down my cheeks. Why couldn't she just let me die? My arms are bandaged, but I can feel them still bleeding, soaking the gauze. Hanging my head, I sigh, thinking about what an incredible mess I've made of the day. Belle is never going to speak to me again, and there's no way in hell Dr. Mills is actually going to come see me in the hospital tomorrow.

Then, I remember what Dr. Mills taught me about black and white thinking like this: It's a cognitive distortion. I have to challenge it.

_She might come see you, _I tell myself. _Don't try to predict the future. Just hope for the best._

I repeat this mantra in my head, shutting my eyes until the rocking of the squad car makes me dizzy. It calms me, somewhat, until I realize I'm unable to challenge the thoughts about Belle. There's no way this girl would stick around for my bullshit. I can't reframe this. I can't get rid of the thought. I can't stop it. I can't even slow it down.

My mind races, and all I want is the razor blade I keep in my wallet for emergencies. But they've taken that from me. Taken everything from me. My outlet. My freedom.

No.

They haven't taken anything. I did this. I started it and was too much of a coward to finish it. _Why did I go to my session?_

I can't tell what's worse: owning this and hating myself for it or blaming everyone else to give myself some relief from the responsibility of my own fuck-up.

I think about the pain on Dr. Mills' face when I called her Regina. _What was I thinking? How could I be so incredibly disrespectful to the one woman actually trying to help me? God, I fucked up so bad. _I cry harder as I see the psych hospital come into view. I hate even the thought of this place. Now, I'm here, and I'm gonna be in deep shit. Luckily, though, there was a bed available here, so I don't have to sit in the emergency room for three weeks while they wait for one at the psych hospital to open up like people usually do. The wait lists are long, but somehow I've gotten lucky. The one thing going my way. At least I can get in here and get it over with.

As soon as the cop escorts me into the building, I look at the clock and start the counter for how long I've been here. Too long already. I want to go home. I want to end this _now._

They bring me to my room and uncuff me, and all I want to do is lash out and beat the shit out of the nurse. She's rude and short with me and speaks about me to the cop as if I'm not in the room. I _hate _that.

But I stay calm, despite my impulse towards violence.

Maybe if she leaves, I can find something in the bathroom to cut with.

I look down at my arms. The bandages are red. As soon as the nurse notices, she sighs impatiently and leaves the room, returning shortly with a small first aid kit. I want to slap her when she reaches for my hands. I want to say, 'Don't touch me,' but I know she's just doing her job. Barely, but doing it. I realize as she unwraps the gauze that the reason I don't want her to do this is because Dr. Mills wrapped it for me. And she almost… _almost_ looked at me with… with I don't know what. It almost looked like compassion, rather than pity. I appreciate that, as I think about it. I appreciate the fact that she was honest with me and didn't try to patronize me.

I'm still crying as the nurse finishes up.

I'm left alone for a while, but stuck in my room, so my anger boils until I'm pounding my fists into the bed. This isn't enough. It's not enough. I can't cut. There's _nothing _in here. It's not padded, but it's relatively empty. I have one option, and I take it.

My fists hit the wall – hard and fast, over and over again – until my knuckles are bleeding. This happens to fast that I hardly notice a team of nurses rushing into the room to restrain me. God, I'm a mess. They hold my arms behind my back, and I start screaming, escalating again, until another nurse comes in. I can't hear what they're saying, even though they're yelling back and forth. I'm causing a scene, and I know it, but I can't stop struggling to get away. Their touches burn, and I hate their hands on me. _Just let me self-destruct, _I'm thinking. But they don't. Instead, the older nurse stabs me with a needle, making me cry out, and injects me with a sedative that almost instantly calms me. At least, it makes me drowsy. Too drowsy to fight them.

My heart's still racing, though, as my panic continues to rise. Now, I can't even fight back. What if they—

I'm in restraints as quickly as the nurse administered the shot, my arms and legs spread and strapped to a chair intended for this purpose. I'm only uncomfortable because I'm straining against the straps. I have no energy to actually try to break through them, though. My weak attempts to get out of the chair fade pretty soon as I give up and shut my eyes. They're exceptionally quiet once I'm in the secluded restraint room, and that in and of itself helps calm me, almost as much as the shot.

_Damn, _I'm thinking, as everything starts to go black. _Wish I could take this shit all the time and not have to feel anything anymore. Second best thing, I guess._

I hate being too weak and vulnerable to fight back, but something tells me I'm safe, so I relax and fade out of consciousness.

~!~!~

When I wake up the next day – I guess I was exhausted from my own outburst – I hear the doctor and nurses talking. It sounds like they're under water, but I can just make out what they're saying.

"Her therapist is here to see her," one of the nurses says.

"Should we really let her have a visitor?" the other one asks the doctor.

The doctor sighs and says, "She's a professional mental health care provider. I don't see why not. We'll leave her restrained."

"Is that really a good idea?" the first nurse asks, obviously exasperated by the doctor's willingness to let me have a visitor after my disruptive behavior.

"We're going to let her in," the doctor says firmly. "It's my call, and you'll do as I say. Maybe her doc can talk some sense into this kid."

I hate that he's just called me a kid, but I won't say anything, because I don't want to blow my chances of seeing Dr. Mills.

_Oh, my God, _I suddenly think, realizing that she's actually here, as promised. _She actually came to see me._

My heart starts to race. _Fuck. I'm a mess_. Actually, I'm worse than yesterday. I'm literally strapped to a padded restraint chair. _Fuck, fuck, fuck. _Maybe I should tell them not to let her in. Maybe I should ask them to tell her to leave. I don't want her to see me like this.

But I need this. I need to see her. I need to know that someone, anyone, actually gives a shit about me. And she wouldn't be here if she didn't, I reason. How is this possible? Why does she care? Why stick around? Why waste her time? It's probably weird for her to visit patients in the hospital. Then again, she runs her own show and can do what she wants. It's not unethical for her to make a professional visit in a professional setting.

"Alright," the nurse says, interrupting my thoughts. "I'll get her."

My heart pounds, and pounds, and pounds as I wait with growing anticipation for them to bring in my therapist.

I squeeze my eyes shut, realizing how terrified I am, and the tears I'm fighting start to slip out anyway.

Dr. Mills enters quietly, escorted by a nurse who is fully prepared to hit me again with the sedative.

"Hi, Ruby," she whispers, approaching the chair, her voice sweet and gentle, like it always is.

Instant relief – and shame – washes over me at hearing the sound of her words. I'm gonna be okay.

"It's alright, Ruby," she assures me, seeing my tears. "I'm right here, and you're gonna get through this."

I shake my head. I can't speak.

"You don't have to talk," Dr. Mills tells me. "I can just sit here for a bit. You're not alone, okay?"

I nod weakly, swallowing the knot in my throat preventing my words from escaping.

I want to say, 'Thank you,' but I can't. I can't. It won't come out.

"Any chance you want to tell me why you hit the wall like that?" she asks, seeing the dried blood on my hands.

I shake my head, ashamed, and my cheeks turn a deep, dark shade of red. I feel it boiling up again – my anger – and start to struggle against the restraints, my chest heaving from the tears that have turned into heavy sobs.

"Easy," she coos. "It's alright. Try to relax. I'm right here. They're going to let you out of this chair today if you can stay calm for a while. Can you do that?"

I'm still sobbing, louder now. Ugly crying, wailing, thrashing as much as possible while bound tightly to the chair. _This is so fucking embarrassing, _I'm thinking, but I can't stop. My heart's exploding in my rib cage, and just as I'm sure it's going to break my bones, she speaks again.

"I'm right here," she promises. "I can't stay the day, but I wish I could."

I nod my understanding, wanting her to know that I don't blame her for this. I know it's my fault.

"S-Sorry," I whimper, finally finding it in me to make sound. "S-So sorry."

"I know, Ruby, but it's okay. Really. We all have—"

"No!" I scream, losing my cool enough to find my voice. "You don't know what this is like!"

"No, I don't," she agrees sadly. "But I know you're in pain."

"Let me die," I plead. "I _hate_ this."

"No," Dr. Mills says, her voice sharp. "I'm not gonna let you die. You're not done, Ruby. This isn't over for you. You are where you need to be. Just take a deep breath."

"Fuck this," I sob. "Fuck this place."

At least I didn't say, 'Fuck you.'

I can't stop crying, and I won't look at her. I don't want to see the pity on her face. I'm pathetic. I just want this to be over.

"They're gonna give you some medicine, Ruby, and I'm hoping that it's going to help you feel better soon. But it might take some time to kick in, okay?"

"Just give me all of it."

I finally look at her, and she's shaking her head. I expected as much. Why am I even trying to convince her just to let me go? I know she won't. Her professional code would never allow it. Then again… she's here. Maybe she does care.

"I would do just about anything to keep you safe," Dr. Mills tells me.

There's no pity in her eyes, and I'm relieved to see that, but god damn does she look _sad. _I hate that almost as much. This is my fault.

"Do you understand that?" she asks me.

I shake my head.

"Belle called me," she says suddenly, and my eyes go wide.

"_What?_" I gape. "How did she—? Did you—"

"No," Dr. Mills quickly cuts me off. "I did _not _tell her. Your grandmother is your emergency contact, so I had to notify her. I think she told Belle."

"W-What… What did she want?"

"I couldn't talk to her," Dr. Mills sighs. "I'm sorry, Ruby, but I didn't have a release of information. She asked me what she could do to help you, but I couldn't even tell her you were a client. If you want to sign a release when you get out, I'd be happy to have her come in with you to talk about this together. But you should know… She wants, more than anything, to see you."

"S-She does?" I stammer, my eyes still wide with shock.

"She does. She told me so herself. They'll probably let her soon, if you stay calm, don't hurt yourself, and stop fighting with the staff. But as of right now, they don't feel it's safe. They don't feel you're stable enough to see her."

I start crying again, sniffling, "I don't want her to see me like this."

"Maybe she _needs _to see you like this, Ruby," Dr. Mills suggests, looking into my wet, bloodshot eyes.

"Not like this," I protest. "Not strapped in a chair where I can't even get up to go piss."

"Well, no," she agrees. "But when you've calmed down some."

"I am calm!" I scream, thrashing again.

Realizing almost instantly just how stupid this is, I stop and cry harder.

"Get me out of here," I plead.

"Not yet, but as soon as possible. As soon as you're stable. I promise, Ruby. You won't be here forever."

I whimper, shutting my eyes again. I can't keep looking at her.

"I don't want you to leave," I confess, voice shaking.

"I have to, Ruby. But I'll stay as long as I can."

And she does. She stays for another forty-five minutes, until the doctor comes in and tells her she has to leave.

"Don't go," I gasp, panic striking me as my hand tightens reflexively and my fingers stretch to reach out for her.

"Dr. Mills," the attending doctor announces, despite seeing the horror on my face. "It's time to go."

She looks at me apologetically and says, "You'll be okay, Ruby, and I'll see you as soon as you get out. I'll keep calling the hospital to check on you. I promise."

"Don't," I cry. "Don't leave me with them."

"Shh," she coos, and I'm soothed by the sound of it. "Just try to relax. The calmer you are, the sooner you can get the help you need and get out of here."

"Why did you do this to me?" I sob.

"Dr. Mills—" the attending tries again, but she cuts him off.

"To keep you safe. You know that, Ruby. Take some deep breaths, just like we talked about. Five things, right?"

I nod weakly but don't obey. I can't stop staring at her, knowing she's going to be gone soon. My only connection to the outside world.

"It's gonna be okay," she promises, offering me a weak smile.

I know she feels horrible, but I also know she's right to have put me here.

And then she's gone, leaving me alone with the doctor. I'm sobbing uncontrollably again. Just when I'd started to calm down, too. For some reason, her presence makes everything easier. But I'm alone, and I know I need to calm down before they stick me again, so I shut my eyes and breathe.


	6. Chapter 6: Part VI

_**Chapter 21: Regina**_

I'm in tears when I open the front door to our home. Emma notices immediately and rushes to my side.

"What's wrong, baby?" she asks me. "What happened?"

I shake my head vigorously, choking back sobs and I stumble into the living room, where I collapse on the couch, holding my head in my hands.

"Baby girl," Emma whispers, stroking my hair back. "Talk to me."

"Client—" I try, but the rest gets stuck in my throat.

My tongue feels swollen. I can't talk. I held my shit together in the hospital. I had to. But now… now that I'm out of her sight… I can fall apart.

And I realize that Emma has me, completely and totally, as I feel her strong arms wrap around me and hold me close. I'm embarrassed by how badly my body is shaking. Suddenly, I almost – _almost – _know how it felt for Ruby to cry like that. It was heart-breaking.

"Baby," Emma tries again, peppering kisses on my forehead. "I'm here. It's okay. Let it out."

Then, I start screaming. I pull away from her roughly and start to hit the couch pillow, knowing full well this won't help in the long run, but also knowing I'll get a short rush of satisfaction from my outburst. I know I'm scaring my wife now, but I can't stop. Is this what it feels like to be Ruby?

"Easy," Emma coos. "I'm here. It's okay. You don't have to talk if you don't want to."

"Saw my client," I sob. "The one in the hospital. She's… She's…"

"Is she safe?" Emma asks, when I can't continue.

I nod and mutter, "Barely. They had to sedate her and put her in restraints. Oh, Emma. It was _awful._"

"Oh, God, baby. I'm so sorry. That must've been horrible to see."

I nod, clenching my fists until my perfectly manicured nails dig into my palms.

"She's going to be okay," Emma tells me, rubbing my back in gentle circles as my panic continues to rise.

"How the _fuck_ do you know she'll be okay?"

Instantly, I regret the anger in my voice, seeing her recoil from me.

There's a long pause as she waits for me to breathe. I'm not breathing. I'm holding my breath, and it hurts. When I do finally realize this and inhale heavily, she moves closer to me again. My fists are still clenched, but I'm forcing myself to breathe. Doing a really bad job at it, but trying, nonetheless. This is what I'd tell Ruby to do. Five things I can see…

I look around. The fireplace. A glass of scotch left on the table. The couch pillow beside me. My own nails. _Emma._

Another deep breath, and I'm starting to calm down. Before I can move on to identifying four things I can hear, Emma pulls me in tightly and kisses the top of my head.

"Because you did the right thing yesterday," she finally answers me, seeing that I'm slowly deescalating. "She's safe. We both know that."

I whimper and fall into her arms, letting her rock me slowly. It's pathetic. I know I shouldn't bring my work home, but I'm also human.

"Feels like my fault," I sigh, once my voice returns.

"It's not," Emma says firmly. "It's definitely not."

"I failed her," I argue. "Maybe if I'd done things differently, she wouldn't have gotten to this place."

She shakes her hand and grabs my chin, making me look her in the eyes.

"Don't you ever say that, Regina Mills. _Doctor _Regina Mills. You do what's best for your clients always. I know that to be true."

"Yeah, well…" I start, but the words fall away.

I have no witty comeback. No argument. No protest. Only the feeling of defeat as I relax into her touch and let her continue to rock me slowly, until I cry myself to sleep in her arms.

_**Chapter 22: Ruby**_

Three days later, I've finally got some of my shit together. At least… until they ask me if I want any visitors. Then, I start to panic. Do I? Do I want anyone to see me? At least I'm not bound to a restraint chair unable to get up to even take a piss. My wrists are healing over, bandaged nicely by a different nurse than the one who put the dressings on when I first got here. The doctor has actually been exceptionally nice to me, and whatever he's giving me – I can't remember the name of it – it's helping. I'm finding myself to be less elevated. Not sedated anymore. Just… Zen.

But the Zen is quickly fading as the thought of Belle seeing me in the hospital bubbles to the surface. The doctor is staring at me, waiting for a reply as to whether he should let her see me or not. I'm sure Granny wants to see me too. Definitely don't want to see her right now. I can already hear the lecture in my head.

"No," I finally answer, shaking my head as I grip the edge of the bed.

The attending looks at me quizzically and sits down in a chair in front of me.

"Miss Lucas," he says softly, looking into my eyes.

His gaze is gentle but piercing. He knows I'm torn.

"I don't know your life story," the doctor tells me. "But I know that these people you're trying to keep out… They want to see you."

"But I'm a mess," I protest quickly, looking slightly more agitated than before.

"Hey. Take it easy," he says, and his voice calms me. "I'm going to encourage you to call them both. I know your grandmother and your girlfriend really care about you and would love to hear from you."

My eyes go slightly wide. How does he know Belle is my girlfriend? Wait…_ Is _she my girlfriend? We never really decided on anything official, so I guess if we are it's some weird unspoken thing. Regardless, I'm surprised by the doctor's gentle manner, and I very much appreciate it. He doesn't push further. Instead, he leaves.

I sit there for a while, alone in my room, thinking about what he's said, and thinking about Dr. Mills. I should call Belle. I should call Granny too, even though I know she'll just piss me off.

Eventually – I have no idea how long it takes me – I leave the room and go out in the common area where I sit in the chair in front of the phone, staring at the dial pad.

_Deep breaths, _I tell myself. _You can do this._

Hands shaking, I dial Belle's number. She answers on the first ring.

"Ruby?" she asks anxiously.

I know she recognizes the hospital's phone number.

"Hey, Belle," I say softly, my voice weak.

I feel shy, for some reason. Embarrassed. Ashamed. Miserable.

"God, am I glad to hear your voice," Belle says with a sigh. "I was so worried about you, Ruby."

I open my mouth to speak, but to my horror, nothing comes out.

"You still there?" she asks.

I feel myself blushing, and I'm so, so glad she can't see me.

"Yeah. Sorry. I'm here."

"Are you okay?"

I think on this for a few moments before answering, "I think so."

"Are you getting out soon?"

She sounds so… concerned. Worried. Anxious. I've never heard this tone in her voice before, and it surprises me.

"I don't know," I sigh, pushing a shaking hand through my hair.

"Please, let me come see you," Belle begs suddenly. "Please, Ruby. Please. No one will tell me anything. Granny doesn't even know what actually happened. All she knows is that Dr. Mills sent you to the hospital. Please, let me see you."

"Belle—" I try to protest, but she doesn't hesitate to cut me off.

"Ruby, please. I need to see you. I need to see with my eyes that you're okay."

"I don't know if I'm okay. But I'm better. Much better."

"Yeah?" she asks, doubting me. "You don't have to say that, you know. It's okay to not be okay."

My heart sputters. Does she know this is exactly what I needed to hear? That all I really needed to know was that she won't hate me if I fall apart?

"Belle…" I start, taking a deep breath. "I really am feeling better. I just don't know how long it'll last, you know? Waiting for the other shoe to drop, I guess. And I wasn't exactly expecting you to pick up. When Dr. Mills said you were trying to talk to her, I thought you were… I don't know what I thought, actually, but I definitely didn't think you were gonna stick around."

"Well, I am!" Belle says loudly, exasperated.

I wince, holding the phone a further distance away from my ear for a moment.

"Sorry," I hear her mutter. I smile when she says, "Of course I'm going to stick around."

_**Chapter 23: Regina**_

The hospital calls me – finally – and I jump to answer the phone when I see the number that's calling. They ask for a discharge appointment for Ruby, and I can hardly contain my excitement and relief. _She's okay. _I give them an appointment for tomorrow morning. Luckily, I had a cancelation, so it isn't a problem to fit her in.

By the time I get home, I'm pretty much elated. _Finally, _I'm thinking. _Finally, this poor girl gets a break._

Emma greets me at the door. She's been doing this every night she doesn't have therapy. No more extra shifts, she'd promised, and damn do I appreciate that. Especially with everything that's been going on with Ruby. I'm so glad she's here. So glad she's welcoming me home.

"Hi, baby," she says with a smile, kissing my cheek. "How was your day?"

"Outstanding, actually," I tell her, smiling back. "Client is being discharge today, and I see her in the morning."

"That's amazing, Gina!" Emma cries, her smile widening. "I'm so glad."

"I think I've done enough talking about me, though," I say softly, stroking her cheek. "Let's spend some time talking about you, yeah? I've been pretty self-absorbed lately, with this whole hospitalization thing, and I realize that I've been neglecting you. Your needs are important too, and I want to make sure that I'm giving you the attention and affection you need."

Her smile drops, which in turn makes me nervous. _What did I say wrong?_ I can't think of anything.

"What did I say?" I ask instantly, when I can't immediately find my own answer as to why I've upset her.

"Nothing. I just…" she starts, but seeing how concerned I look, she decides to change her words. "You're not neglecting me. To be honest, I've enjoyed taking the focus off of me. I've enjoyed being able to care for you and forget about my own shit for a while. I know that's not healthy, but… there it is. And I know that if we talk about me, I'll have to talk about the real shit, and I'm scared to."

"Babe," I whisper, pulling her into my arms. "It's okay. You can tell me anything and everything. Please do."

She sighs and rests her head on my shoulder.

After a pause, she offers, "Let's have dinner and go lay down? I'm exhausted."

I nod, and we make our way to the kitchen where we work as a team to prepare dinner. We eat with idle chit-chat, neither of us bringing up anything heavy. We both know that once we're ready for bed, whatever conversation is going to come will be intense.

She drags her feet while getting ready for bed. Her usual two minutes brushing her teeth turns into four, and I know she's stalling.

"Emma," I call out to the bathroom from the bedroom. "Come to bed, darling."

I hear her spit out the toothpaste, rinse her mouth, and shuffle slowly back into the room where I'm sitting on the bed.

"I know what you want to hear," she tells me with a sigh, as she slips beneath the sheets on the other side of the bed.

"What do I want to hear?" I question her, confused.

"You want to hear about the flashbacks."

I bite my lip. I don't know what I was expecting to talk about, but she's probably right. I've been waiting for this moment. I'm tired of wondering when, how often, and why she's being brought back to trauma when we have sex. I need to know.

"I…" I start slowly, looking her over as I swing my legs beneath the covers. "I just want to know you, Emma. All of you. Not just the shiny, perfect pieces. _All _the pieces."

"I don't want to share them," she says, her voice cracking.

"We both know this marriage won't work if you hide yourself from me."

She looks visibly pained by my words, and I almost – _almost _– regret them. But I know they're true. This has to come to a head, or we're never going to move past it.

"I don't want to keep hurting you," I confess, when she's silent.

"You're not."

"I am, and you know it. Having sex with me is painful for you, and I'd give anything for it not to be. Listen, Em… If you never wanted to have sex with me again because of this, that would be okay. But I need to know why and what's going through your mind, so please – _please – _just let me in and explain it to me. I can only understand if you let me." She continues to look wounded and remains quiet, so I add, "But if you don't want to stop, that's okay too. I don't _want _to stop making love to you… I just want you to feel safe. And I'll do anything to make that happen. Okay?"

She shakes her head, so I take her hand and squeeze it.

"Emma," I whisper. "It's okay, baby. Talk to me."

"He used to tie me to the bed and rape me," Emma blurts. "That's why I freaked out that time you joked about trying bondage."

"I'm sorry, Em…" I say softly, rubbing the back of her hand with my thumb. "Is there anything I do in particular that's triggering for you?"

"Anything, really. Once my clothes are off, it kinda starts. The panic sets in and I have to fight to be still. To not get up and run."

_Shit, _I'm thinking. _I'm about to cry._

I can feel the tears welling and will them not to fall. I have to be strong for her right now. This isn't about me.

"I'm sorry, Regina," she tells me. "It just… happens. It's not you. It's just… the act, you know? It's okay when we kiss. When we touch with clothes on. But as soon as I'm naked, I feel him on top of me. And… And you always top…"

I almost gasp at this confession, and the realization that it _is _something I'm doing that's triggering her.

"Don't freak out," she says quickly. "I don't want you to stop, okay? I… I like it. It's just… hard at the same time."

"What happens next?" I ask, with as much courage as I can muster.

"Once you're in me, I feel him. Reality shatters and I'm back in my childhood bedroom, bound and gagged and sobbing. It takes everything in me not to cry in real life."

"I'm sorry, Em," I say, my voice cracking. "I wish I'd known…"

"There's more."

I tilt my head, waiting for a response. She's obviously anxious, so I pull her just a little bit closer to me and leave my arm around her shoulders.

"Tell me."

"When I orgasm, I get nauseous."

"Why?" I question, eyebrows raising as I become confused again.

"Because it happens while I'm picturing him on top of me. The only thing that keeps me from breaking with reality all together is the sound of you moaning or whispering in my ear."

She says nothing else for a long while, so hesitantly, I lean in and place a chase kiss on her lips, hoping she'll feel every ounce of love I have for her in my touch.

She returns the kiss.

"Is it grounding for you?" I ask softly, once she pulls away, rubbing her back in gentle circles.

She nods.

"Can you tell me more about that?"

She shakes her head.

"Emma," I sigh. "I'm not being a therapist right now. I'm just trying to understand."

"I'm not one of your patients!" she cries. "You're not gonna figure me out, or whatever it is you guys do to your patients."

I'm taken aback by the bitterness in her voice, but I know she's emotionally raw right now, so I let it slide and say, "No, you're not. You're my wife, and I want to know you better and better every day. So, please, explain it to me."

"Yes, it's grounding for me," she huffs. "This is so awkward."

"I know," I tell her, kissing her forehead. "I know it's uncomfortable, but stay with it. I'm right here."

"It brings me back into the moment. It reminds me you're not him. You're not going to hurt me."

"I would never, ever hurt you," I whisper, pulling her back into my arms and holding her gently.

"I know, Gina," Emma tells me, nuzzling into my neck.

"It's funny," I say slowly, pressing a kiss to her temple. "I always try not to be loud."

"You do?" she questions, looking confused. "Why? It's just us here."

"I dunno," I confess with a shrug. "I guess it's just embarrassing. That's why I always bite my lip or whatever. I get nervous and I don't want to be… I dunno… obnoxious."

She raises an eyebrow with interest and leans back against the pillows.

"It's not obnoxious. I love when you make noise. When you're panting and grunting and moaning on top of me… letting me know what I do to you…"

_Oh, shit._ I'm blushing. This is so bad. She's turning me on.

"Emma. Let's talk about—" I try, but she cuts me off.

"Why don't we…" she starts slowly, her voice dropping to a low, seductive tone that surprises me. "Why don't we try this again. This time, I try to stay present, you keep me here, and you stop swallowing those beautiful noises for me."

I feel faint. Dizzy. Confused. What is she doing?

"Emma, hold on. Let's talk about this. I don't want to make you—"

"You're not making me do anything. I'm offering. Yes, I'm scared, but I'm offering. I want to be present with you, and I haven't been. I've been fighting off my demons and not giving you the love or attention you really deserve. I've been pretending to be okay for too long. You deserve the real me, Gina. And I want this. It's never been an issue of me not wanting you. I always want you. I just get in the moment and panic."

"Emma," I press her. "We really don't have to do this right this second."

"If you don't make love to me right now, I'm going to go downstairs and get the whipped cream, cover my tits in it, and lay here until you can't help but put your mouth all over me. Got it?"

I have to laugh at this. She's not serious. She's being playful. It makes my own heart feel lighter to hear her joking around. This is the Emma I fell in love with. Fiery, feisty, funny… Sexy.

I nod my head in agreement and wait for her to make the next move. She does. Her bathrobe comes off in one swift movement, exposing her breasts and pert nipples. My mouth waters. She's so beautiful.

Soon, her hands are moving over my body, lifting my nightgown over my head. Carefully, she pulls my panties down past my ankles before removing her own and lying next to me on the bed, naked and exposed.

My heart is slamming in my chest, painfully aware of what's to come. Emma pulls me on top of her firmly, but not roughly.

"I love you," she whispers, kissing my lips slowly, with intention.

Her tongue slides over my bottom lip, and the moan I've been trying to stifle slips out.

"Emma," I whimper, feeling her thumbs pressed into my hips.

"Do it, Regina," she says seriously. "Make love to me."

I slide my hands and up and down her sides, slowly rubbing my thumbs over her nipples when I reach that part of her body. Her chest rises and falls, and a soft moan escapes her lips when I pinch her nipples lightly. I'm satisfied with the reaction I'm getting but scared to keep going. I stop.

"Don't," she says quickly, grabbing my wrist and guiding my hand down between her legs. "Don't stop."

I bite my lip and look down at her, and when she nods, I slowly start to rub her clit, teasing her until she starts panting. Then, I see it. How have I not noticed this look on her face before? Oh, right. Because, in the past, I'd been busy with my own pleasure. Well, not exclusively, but… my own arousal was certainly a distraction. This time, it's all about her.

The look of pain on her face catches me off guard, and my breath stalls.

"Em?" I ask anxiously, starting to pull my hand away.

Her eyes snap open, and she looks at me sadly as she grabs my wrist and presses my hand back against her crotch.

"Em," I try again, wanting to stop but allowing her to take the reins.

"No," she says sharply. "Don't you dare stop now. I'm okay."

I sigh softly, unsure of myself now, but slide a finger into her, testing to see how this feels for her before I do anything else. She gasps, but then her eyes are closed again, and I can tell she's fading. I hate that I've never noticed these subtle reactions from her before. _God. I must be a selfish pig._ I try not to cry, even though I feel my own tears of shame coming to haunt me.

"Emma," I say, voice firm but not harsh. "Come back to me."

She opens her eyes again, immediately finding mine, and we share an intense look. To my surprise, I feel her shiver under me as I slide another finger in. Again, she gasps, this time lifting her hips to take my fingers deeper.

I stop momentarily, searching her face to check in and make sure she's okay.

"I'm with you," she manages to say, her breaths coming ragged and heavy.

"Good," I say softly, leaning in to place a tender kiss on her forehead, my lips lingering there for several moments as I curl my fingers a few more times.

She bucks under me, and this is encouraging enough for me to change positions. I lift her leg over mine, repositioning us until our cores touch. I let out a surprised gasp when I feel her heat pressing against my own warm center.

"Emma," I breathe, my eyes almost closing.

But I bring myself back into the moment and focus on Emma, who I can tell is struggling to stay here with me.

"Easy," I whisper, rocking myself against her as I grip her hand and squeeze it hard. "I'm here. It's just me."

Her chest starts to heave, and I can't tell if she's panicked or intensely aroused. Maybe both. So, I stop and wait a moment for her to lift her hips again, wanting the friction.

"Stay here," I urge her, pressing harder against her until she starts to whimper.

She's watching my face, trying so, so hard to be here in this moment, and I realize right then and there just how loving and devoted she really is. Yes, she kept this secret. No, it doesn't mean she loves me less than I thought. It just means she didn't know how to tell me. I'm so grateful that she's with me here, letting me make love to her. Trusting me.

She gasps again with my next thrust against her, and I feel her thighs start to shake.

"Stay," I say again, seeing her eyes roll back.

She jerks her head slightly, tearing herself from the flashback she's having, and looks at me, long and hard, until I'm nearly collapsing against her from the effort it's taking to hold back my own orgasm.

"Let it out," she pleads with me, clawing at my thighs. "Let go. Need to hear you."

The breath I've been holding it comes out as a gasp for air, and my hips buck hard, pressing my clit against hers. Then, I'm crying out. This is the loudest I've ever been, and the sounds coming from me are absolutely horrifying. But when I look at her, checking for her reaction, she's deep in the throes of passion, and I can tell how bad she wants me. She's bucking up against me, pulling on me, trying to drag me closer. She really does like this. She gets off on it.

I watch the sweat form on her brow as she starts to orgasm. Fuck, she's gorgeous. I can't stop moaning, now that I've started to let it out. She's staring at me, completely present, sweating and gasping beneath me until she starts to come, her body shaking against mine. I'm not far behind her, so I try to hold it back again, biting down hard on my lip.

"No!" she screams, still coming for me. "Don't hold it in!"

Again, I gasp and groan loudly. Feeling her orgasm rock her, I cry out and reach my climax.

This is the closest we've ever been.

_**Chapter 24: Ruby**_

Belle offers to pick me up from the hospital, and I somehow manage to agree to this. Granny is kind of pissed, because she really wanted to, but I told her I needed some time alone with Belle.

I wait anxiously for her arrival. Am I actually ready to leave? I have the sudden realization that I needed to be here. That Dr. Mills was right. Then… the next revelation hits me. _Dr. Mills saved my life._

I would have – with ninety-nine percent certainty – gone home and killed myself, if she'd let me leave the office. She protected me from myself. I know I'm my own worst enemy, and as much as I hate that, I'm glad I can see it and work with it now.

So, yeah, I'm nervous about leaving the hospital. Knowing that I needed to be here and that I could fall apart again at any moment makes me queasy. What if I ruin things with Belle?

I swallow hard, wanting to slap myself for my own stupidity. _No_, I tell myself. _That's how I ended up here_. And Belle hasn't abandoned me yet. Then again, she didn't see me cutting myself or strapped in a restraint chair.

No. I refuse to think like that. Belle wants me in her life.

Then, the nurse comes in and tells me my ride is here. _Shit, shit, shit. _What do I say? My legs feel like Jell-O as I walk, escorted, down the hallway to the building entrance. I'm finally out of here. It doesn't feel real.

And when I see her standing in the lobby by the door, my heart skips a beat. She's beaming at me and holds her arms out as soon as she sees me, and I am so, so grateful that they finally let me take a shower this morning.

She looks beautiful.

"Hey," I say softly, wrapping my arms around her waist and holding her against me.

She buries her face in my neck, and I can feel her warm breath on my skin. It makes me shiver, but I don't pull away. She leans back only enough to kiss my lips – softly, slowly, tenderly, and I taste the love on her lips.

"I'm so fucking glad to see you," she tells me, finally pulling away enough to look into my eyes.

She's crying. My stomach drops again.

"Belle… Don't cry… I'm fine, see?" I quickly assure her, offering her a smile as I grip her shoulders.

"You could've died," she sobs.

_Oh, no. Here we go. _Now I really do feel like shit.

I remind myself she can't possibly always know the right thing to say, but the fact that this was definitely _not _the right thing to say irritates me.

"I know," I sigh, stifling my frustration with her emotional response.

Why does everything in the universe earn a reaction from me? Why am I so fucking _sensitive?_

"But I'm here," I add suddenly, before she can speak. "I didn't die, and I don't plan to any time soon."

"You promise?"

"Belle," I whine, looking around the lobby. "Can we continue this conversation in the car, please?"

"Oh, shit," she blurts. "Sorry. Yes, of course."

She squeezed my hand hard enough to hurt all the way to the car. I know she's scared.

As we're pulling out of the parking lot, I whisper, with as much bravery as I can manage, "I missed you."

She looks over at me, wiping her tears, and smiles. I can tell she's glad I've said this. It seems like she's feeling pretty vulnerable too, which surprises me, but I'm grateful for it.

"Thank you for coming to get me," I say with sincerity.

I'm really glad it wasn't Granny. Even though I know I'll have to have the talk with her soon anyway.

"I wouldn't have missed it for the world, Ruby," she tells me, and I blush.

It feels so surreal. Too good to be true. I'm out, she's here… and I don't want to die anymore.

I become quiet as we drive home, absently playing with the bottle of my medication, which I'd had in my purse. When we reach town, I quickly become confused, as Belle takes a sharp left turn where we would normally take a right to get to my place.

Where is she going?

Not Granny's. That's in the same direction as my apartment. We're leaving downtown.

"Belle?" I ask quizzically, looking around.

She shrugs and replies, "I want to take you to my place. I have a surprise for you."

"You what?" I gape, horrified.

I _hate _surprises.

"Oh, relax," Belle laughs. "It's not a big deal."

But it is a big deal. As soon as we walk into her house, I see candles on the table set for two, and two large bouquets of roses.

"Belle—" I try, staring at the extravagant display.

There are even some rose petals intentionally placed over the tablecloth, scattered from one end of the table to the other.

"Welcome home, Ruby," she says, looking at me shyly.

I can tell she's scared of my reaction. She knows this _is _a big deal. A very, very big deal.

All I can manage to ask is, "Why?"

"Because I love you," she tells me with a shrug. "I want you to be happy you're home."

"But this is—"

"My place. I know. But you're always welcome here. And for me… I don't know. Home is anywhere you are."

"Belle…" I sigh hesitantly. "Don't say that."

I look down at my feet – anywhere but at her or this beautiful display of affection she's prepared for me – and try not to cry. What she's just said is Earth shattering for me. I don't know how to respond, other than to reject the comment completely.

"I'll say what I like, Ruby Lucas," she says firmly, clearly taking none of my shit. "Because it's true."

I finally lift my gaze, terrified but unable to ignore her, and see the look of love on her face. She's not angry with me. She's persistent. She's not giving up on me.

"I love you," I say softly, moving towards her and taking her hands in mine.

Her palms feel warm. They're always warm. I imagine her doing her favorite activity – reading – with the book in her hands, squeezing it lovingly. The same way she's holding my hands. She looks at me like I'm a work of art, and although I don't understand it, it's intoxicating.

I kiss her hard, one hand letting go of hers to cup the back of her neck to pull her closer and hold our lips in place. She kisses me back with equal passion, and I know I'm exactly where I belong.


	7. Chapter 7: Part VII

**Author's note: Last section, guys! Hope you've enjoyed the ride. Feel free to leave feedback or chat me to discuss! Thanks for reading!**

* * *

_**Chapter 25: Regina**_

My own therapy session goes wonderfully. I've taken a few weeks off, to deal with Ruby's crisis and to go to my wife's session but being back is… liberating. I've gotten so much off my chest tonight.

"Regina," my therapist says. "You're doing a good job. You're a good therapist. You're a good wife. You don't give up. You keep pushing, through anything and everything. That's all that really matters."

I sigh and smile, relieved. I let myself believe him, if only for a brief moment, and thank him for his kindness. He tells me to have a good night, and I leave feeling refreshed and confident.

When I get home, I'm surprised when Emma doesn't meet me at the door. This has become customary for us. She hasn't taken any extra shifts lately, and she's made it a point to be home on nights she doesn't have therapy.

"Emma?" I call out, confused as to why her car is in the driveway, but she's nowhere to be found.

"Upstairs, baby," she calls out, and I immediately find myself drawn like a magnet to the staircase.

I walk upstairs, curious as to what she's doing upstairs so early in the evening. I hope she's not sick. Maybe she's just—

Oh, shit.

I enter the bedroom to find her completely naked on the bed, her legs spread with her arms above her head, her hands folded behind it to support herself as she leans against the wall.

"W-What—" I stammer, staring completely dumbfounded by the masterpiece that is her body.

Perfection.

This has never happened before. In all the years we've been together, all the times we've been passionately intimate before, I've never seen her completely exposed like this. When my eyes rake over her body involuntarily, taking in every inch of her, I notice that her sex is glistening with her arousal, and my stomach drops.

"Come here," she orders, voice demanding and dripping with lust.

_What the hell is going on?_ I wonder, hesitantly inching towards the bed.

"Take off your clothes," she says firmly, smirking at me in a way I've never seen her do before.

I can't deny how seductive she is, but I'm still a little unsure of myself. Where is this coming from? I start to wonder if she's overcompensating for the other night, when I pulled her from her flashbacks. But no… She's wet. She wants me.

I pull my trousers down, never taking my eyes off her as her sly smile sends electrifying shivers down my spine. This is too much.

Very quickly, I'm dripping too, and when I pull of my panties, I can't help but notice the mess that's already forming. _Shit,_ I'm thinking. _This is too good to be true…_

But it's real. I'm here. She's here.

I stay mindful, forcing myself to be present, even as my head begins to swim with desire. She's never seduced me like this.

Emma beckons be closer once I'm naked, and slowly, I crawl onto the bed.

"I want you to eat me out," she says. "I'm a mess."

I agree. She is a mess. I can see how wet she is, and my mouth is watering. This is perfect. She's perfect. This moment is perfect.

I position myself between her legs, lifting and bending them to expose her further, then waste no time putting my mouth on her clit. Tasting her is like drinking water from a stream in the garden of Eden. I'm nearly drooling from it.

"Emma," I sigh, briefly moving away as I hear her moan.

With a little gasp of disappointment at the removal of my warm mouth on her sex, Emma tangles her fingers in my hair and shoves my face closer. I don't protest. I lick her slit without hesitation, cleaning her arousal. It's everywhere. On my lips, on my chin, on her thighs. She bucks against my mouth, and I don't stop. I can tell she needs this by the way she holds my head close by pulling my hair. _Fuck. She's pulling my hair._

I'm so painfully turned on that I know I'm dripping too, but I don't move away. At least, until I remember her flashbacks and jerk myself up to look into her eyes.

She cries out, angry that I've left her wanting, but I ignore her protests and efforts to pull me closer.

"Are you with me?" I ask.

She nods, and my stomach drops. She's not having flashbacks?

"Are you sure?" I press, squeezing her thighs a little harder than intended.

I want to make sure she's present for this. No regrets.

"I'm fucking sure!" she snaps. Then, calming somewhat after hearing the desperation in her own voice, she adds in a softer tone, "I'm with you. Get the strap-on."

We've only done the strap-on twice – once on me, and once on her – and I'd never really known why until she shared her flashbacks with me. She just told me, 'It's not my favorite,' so I let the issue drop. Now, she's asking for it?

I know what she's doing. She's horny, but she's also testing herself. She's fighting the flashbacks. But I believe her when she says she's here. I see the passion in her eyes, and it sets me on fire. She's with me. I'm elated that my wife is finally one hundred percent present, here in this moment. She wants me to make love to her, and I am so, so ready for this that I nearly jump off the bed to retrieve the toy.

Once it's strapped around my hips, I feel the cool air of the room make me shiver. She looks at me and licks her lips.

"Are you sure?" I ask, questioning her with my eyes as well.

She nods and growls, "Fucking do it."

I've never seen her so completely and totally lustful. I'm shocked but can't contain my excitement. I'm between her legs in an instant, lining myself up with her entrance.

"Tell me when."

"_Now_, Regina! Stop fucking around! I need you."

Yep. Now I'm drooling. Dripping. Soaking my thighs. This is all too much for me. My core aches, but I know I need to do this for her before I get my own release. The sound of her moaning is enough to urge me on. Maybe even enough to make me come already.

I start to push into her slowly, but she grabs me, her nails digging hard into my hips, and jerks me forward until the toy is completely buried in her. She screams.

At first, I think it hurts, so I stop moving, but she thrusts her hips up, wordlessly telling me she needs more. I start to move, trying to be gentle, but she jerks me forward again, so I work up a frantic rhythm that she matches thrust for thrust.

I stop immediately when I see her eyes fall shut, still inside her.

"Stay with me," I say quickly, stroking her face. "I'm right here."

Her eyes snap open.

"I am. I'm with you," she promises, and I'm shocked to hear these words.

I was sure she was fading.

"Don't you dare fucking stop," she growls, when she realizes that I'm caught in a stupor as I stare at her. "I'm so close, Gina."

Sweat is beading down her face, telling me how into this she is. She's close already? Damn. She must've been _really _turned on…

I pound into her, pinning her hips to the mattress as thrust mercilessly into her. She keeps her eyes open this time, and I know she's doing this to assure me she's present. Then, our eyes lock onto one another, and this makes me so incredibly aroused that I think I'm getting close too. _Shit. How is she doing this to me?_

"Harder," she gasps, her body writhing beneath me. "Harder."

I can't believe this is happening. Harder? Really? But she's begging me.

"Please. _Please,_" she moans.

Then, I feel the unfamiliar sting of her nails dragging down the flesh of my back, and I can tell that they're going to bleed. It hurts, but feels so fucking good that I can't stop. I give her what she wants and fuck her as hard as I can until she lets out a painfully loud scream that pushes us both over the edge. We're both coming.

I sag over her, my forehead pressed against her shoulder, and feel my chest heaving. I can barely catch my breath.

"That was… without a doubt… the most intense orgasm… you've ever given me," she tells me, struggling to fill her lungs with air.

I hum in reply, unable to speak, and silently agree with her. I can't move. I'm still shaking. _She's _still shaking. I'm still wondering where the fuck this came from, but I remember her eyes piercing me as we fuck, and I know she was with me. That's all that matters: that she's here and that she's happy.

"So good," she sighs, sliding her hands down my back. When she feels the bumps of her scratches, she gasps, "Oh, my god. I'm so sorry."

I find the strength to lift my head – just barely – and tell her, "No, don't apologize… I liked it. I _loved _it. You're a fucking animal, you know that?"

She grins at me and nods her head.

"Why no flashbacks?" I ask shyly, searching her eyes for honesty.

Still smiling, she tells me, "Because I was horny as fuck, thinking about the other night, and when you came home, you couldn't stop staring at me. It kept me present. And honestly… the harder you fucked me… the closer I was to reality."

I smile back and nod my head in understanding, telling her, "I love you, Em."

"Love you too, babe."

"Can I lay down now?" I chuckle. "You wore me out."

She nods and kisses my forehead before my head falls to her shoulder.

"Hey," I mumble suddenly, after a long moment of silence. "I wanna ask you something."

"You wanna go again already?" Emma teases me.

I blush and lift my head again, shaking it.

"No, honey. Not tonight," I reply with a smile. "Something else."

"Okay…" she says slowly. "Ask away."

"Emma… I was wondering… Um… If you might…" I try, but find the words getting caught inside me. This is fucking embarrassing, but I finally get my shit together and manage to ask, "I was wondering if you'd want to renew our vows."

She stares me at me, shocked, and I blush a brighter shade of red.

"Please?" I add, biting down on my lower lip as my nerves make my stomach flip. "Marry me again?"

A bright smile spreads across her lips as she answers, "Of course, darling. I'd marry you again every day of my life if I could."

And this is how I know I'm in the right place, with the right woman, at the right time. She's everything to me. This is how it should be. As I think back on how much our marriage has grown, I kiss her lips tenderly, holding her face close to mine. She kisses me back, and I realize that there's nowhere I'd rather be.

_**Chapter 26: Ruby**_

A week after my discharge appointment with Dr. Mills, I have another session.

"How are you, Ruby?" she asks me, when I sit down and smile at her. "You look happy."

"I am," I say softly. "I dunno how long it'll last, but right now, I am happy."

"What's inspiring this happiness, if I may ask?" Dr. Mills questions me.

"I'm starting to let go," I tell her. "Like, letting go of hating myself. Letting go of my low self-worth. I'm starting to believe that I have value exactly as I am. Belle's certainly helped with that, but I'm also realizing that, even if she decides to peace out and leave me devastated, I _can _get through it. I can get through anything. I mean, look at what happened with the hospital. I literally was punching walls. I was going insane. But here I am, feeling better, and not just because of Belle."

"You're absolutely right, Ruby," she says, smiling broadly.

_What's she so happy about? _I wonder.

Then, I realize… She's proud of me. I can see it all over her face, and even though it's sort of unbelievable, I'm amazed and thrilled to see this expression.

"Right about what?" I ask, to clarify.

"You can get through anything. You've already been through so much. Don't stop fighting now, okay? Or even when things get harder – and they will. They will get harder. Life is a series of ups and downs. That's just the way of it, but I know you can get through it. And I have to tell you, Ruby… It's wonderful to hear you saying these things with such confidence."

"I still have some doubts. Some worries. But overall, I think I've proven to myself that I'm stronger than I thought. And I don't need cutting to handle my life. I just need determination and a little bit of mindfulness."

"How about a lot of mindfulness?" she offers.

I laugh when I realize she's teasing me.

"You and your coping skills," I joke.

"But they work, don't they? Remember when you did the deep breathing in the hospital? You calmed almost instantly."

I think back and agree with her.

"Yeah, you're right. It does help. I have a long way to go, though. I know that. But I'm not giving up now, and I'm willing to do the work."

"So, let me ask you, Ruby. Things have changed over the past few months. You goal when you came in was to pacify your grandmother and to become less angry. What are your goals now?"

"Not to self-destruct. To stay stable."

"That's a wonderful goal, Ruby. That's far deeper than anger. I think once you start getting into the _why _of self-destruction, you'll find it much easier to avoid."

"Why do you think I do it?" I question her, curious as to her answer.

"I think you've grown up in an invalidating environment, Ruby, and now you doubt yourself at every turn. I'm sure that gaining some confidence will improve that."

"You think so?"

She smiles again, and I love the sight of it. There's something about her that is so, so calming.

"I really do."

I lean back on the couch and smile back at her. Things are going my way. And even if they weren't? I wouldn't give up.

Then, I recognize the realization that is the foundation of all this change – something Dr. Mills has been telling me all along:

'_Life is worth living, even through pain.'_


End file.
